


Like Flying, Like Falling

by Beleriandings



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: (original) character death, F/F, F/M, Familial Relationships, Gen, Ryokuryuu village, So many OCs, Violence, Worldbuilding, Zeno is there because the author wanted him to be, adoptive families, headcanon that the village wasn't always as terrible as in the present era, nonlinear storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 182,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: Almost a century before Jae-ha met Yona and the long wait of the green dragon’s blood to serve its master was ended, something terrible happened in Ryokuryuu village, causing its people to flee, to rebuild their lives, and to lock the dragons away. Very few remember what really happened that night; future generations were told that the village was attacked. But the truth, though lost to history, is not quite that simple….





	1. A journey in winter

_**Prologue** _

A soft hand, ghosting over his forehead, sweeping back the hair that had become stuck to his skin with sweat and soot and tears. “Shhh” said a soothing voice, from somewhere above. “Hush, Ryokuryuu. It… it won’t be long, now.”

_Ryokuryuu_. That voice, and the way it said the name sent a thrill of memory through him. It was hard to remember though, when he was fighting merely to breathe what he knew would amongst be his last breaths. They came with difficulty, his heart struggling to weakly pump the last of his blood around his weakened body. He wanted to speak, to reply - _weren’t last words customary? Wasn’t this the time for them?_ \- but his throat was burning from all the smoke, dry as sand, and he could taste only ash.

The figure holding him leaned over, solicitously. Yes, really _holding_ him, he realised now; sitting on the ground at the bottom of the slope and cradling him in skinny arms, close against a narrow chest. Even as his own heart beat erratically, like a trapped bird, he could feel the firm, vital rhythm of another heart close to the side of his face, under the warm cloth of a tattered old cloak. A face loomed over him, blurring into focus as it blotted out the orange glow of firelight.

With tear-filled eyes, he stared up into that face; eyes wide with worry, glimmering with tears to match his own. In the low light he could barely see them except as bright points, but in that moment it didn’t strike him as at all strange that he remembered their colour. The brilliant blue of the sky in summer - _and oh how he loved the sky, though it was dark now and he knew he would not live to see another dawn break_ \- and bright hair falling into them, as golden as the sun.

He blinked, trying to rid himself of the tears clouding his vision, eyes smarting from the smoke. It didn’t help much. He still saw the figure blurred by a bright, warm haze of gold. Or perhaps that was only in his mind, he thought vaguely. That wouldn’t surprise him, very much.

Why, it was almost like another light he had seen, a familiar sort of light that had been just at the back of his mind for his whole life, warm and golden and a strange comfort, somehow. There had been other lights, too, soft blue and brilliant white, and of course the familiar green - _please, let the gods have mercy on that child, keep her safe in all this, her fate would be cruel enough_ – but even they wavered, at times; there had never been one quite so constant as the gold.  

He even had a name that he could put to it, this warm, unfaltering gold. Memory came, recent memory - though so much had changed since then, it felt like so long ago. He raised his head.  

“O-Ouryuu…?” he managed to choke out, hoping that his voice could be heard.

A hand, on his cheek, and a gentle voice. “…..Yes, Ryokuryuu. Zeno’s here.” 

“Z-Zeno….” yes, that was it. He nodded. “You came too late….”

Zeno looked stricken, opening his mouth without saying anything, as though he didn’t know what to say. “Yes” he said at last, with all the heaviness of someone with more regrets than they could possibly count even if they lived forever. “Yes… Zeno came too late. Zeno is sorry. But Ryokuryuu is still - ”

“No” he interrupted, shaking his head with some effort. But this was important. “Th-that’s…. not my name.”

“What?”

“I’m…. I’m not Ryokuryuu anymore….” he said. “I’ve lost my power. It’s her now. Not me…. ” he was nothing at all now, and soon his spirit would no longer be bound to this world, would take flight to the heavens above.

He had seen it coming, but it was strange how afraid he was, now it came to it.

For when had he ever been afraid to fly?

Zeno nodded, sadly, smoothing the hair from out of his eyes once more so he could see. He must have been starting to drift away, he realised, for Zeno patted his cheek urgently, then. “N-no! Ryo- ah, no…. tell Zeno anything…. your name! Tell Zeno your name!

“My name…. my name is…” he frowned, brought momentarily back to the present. He had had a name, but in this moment, he couldn’t remember it. Another name kept coming to the front of his mind instead, someone who was more important than he was.

But he always had hated to leave things half-finished, words unsaid. Besides, there was nothing he could do for her now. He silently cursed his weakness, and looked up into Ouryuu’s face. “S…So-min” he said. “My name. Is… was…. So-min.”

“So-min” said the soft voice of Ouryuu, above his head. “Zeno will… remember that.”

So-min nodded, as best he could. He knew he didn’t have much time left. His body felt heavy and numb, the feeling ebbing from his limbs, turning them weak and useless. He couldn’t feel his right foot at all, and he knew that if he could raise himself up and look, he would see that the green shimmer of scales that had been there all his life was quite gone.

_No, not gone; it had passed to her now._

His fingers were trembling, slick with ice-cold sweat, but they still had some feeling left at least. And so he clutched desperately at the small, warm hands with the last of his strength. “Please…. Ouryuu…. Z-Zeno…” he stammered out, making Zeno lean a little closer. “P-please…” he couldn’t hold back the tears, and they spilled out along with his words. “I need to know… I need to know that she’s alive…”

Zeno stared off to one side, at something So-min couldn’t see, immobile as he was. “She’s alive” said Zeno. “Yes, she’s alive.”

He nodded, clutching again at Zeno’s arm. “When I’m d-dead… go after her. Please. Help her. See that she’s alright.”

Zeno’s face was grave and solemn, as though he carried the weight of the whole world’s cares on his back. “Zeno… will.”

“Promise?” in that moment he thought, absurdly, that he sounded like a child grasping desperately at the hope that the nightmares would go away. _But no, she was the child, and he the one who was supposed to protect her. But he had let this happen; she was in danger because of him._

_How quickly the world you know can change around you. One moment you are standing at the top of a high cliff looking down, and then falling, and there is a moment of wondrous freefall, before you hit the ground…_

“Zeno promises.”

So-min relaxed a little, but he still clung desperately to Zeno’s hands. “I’m…. scared” he said, his face wet with tears now.

Zeno’s hand was gentle as he smoothed back the hair that was slicked to So-min’s forehead; the actions should have soothed, but instead it only kindled his anger further. He bared his teeth. “I’m so… curse every god in heaven, but I’m so fucking scared.” He took a deep, shuddering breath; it cost so much more effort than it should have. “Please, Zeno…. please stay with me…” he squeezed Zeno’s hand as hard as he could, just to have something to cling on to. His vision was tunnelling, the edges of the world going dark. “Please, just a little while… don’t leave… stay until the end comes…”

“Of course” said Zeno quietly, gripping his hand back. “Zeno can do that.”

* * *

**_(Four months earlier)_ **

 

It was midwinter, the land brown and desolate and the sky milk-white with the promise of snow, and So-min was returning home for the first time since last year’s harvest. On either side of the winding path, the rice paddies were dried out and frozen, the winter-brown stalks tied into neat, cropped bundles, terraces enclosed by the border paths, a network stretching off in every direction across the gentle, rolling slope of the land. His breath misted in thick white gusts around him as he walked along one such path, his hood up and a scarf drawn up tight about his chin.

He shivered. Even here on the ground, the wind was picking up. So-min frowned at the hard-frozen earth beneath his feet; he knew he could be back in front of a warm fire if he wanted. He could jump to the sky, be there by the early dusk that was sure to come tonight, if he wanted to.

_Well, perhaps_. He frowned even deeper at that thought; lately, his dragon’s foot had been weakening noticeably, the once bright scales dulling and losing their shine, receding each day a little further; soon they would have slipped below his knee.  

He _could_ still jump though. He certainly could if he wanted to; by walking, he was merely conserving his energy.

Besides, it wasn’t as though he was in any hurry to return to the village.

In fact, the very thought of the village where he had been born made him grit his teeth. The village of Ryokuryuu was a dreary place at the best of times, even in the summer months when the rice paddies painted the terraces a brilliant emerald green for miles around. The village had been built on marshy ground, perched precariously over the irigation channels for the rice. And so the densely-clustered houses were propped up with a myriad of bamboo stilts and poles, thicker tree-trunk piers turning slimy with damp, ropes, joists and decking, and most anything, really, that would keep the village from slipping into the little pool that had formed around it over the years, before the well-tended terraces began.

Still, So-min thought, in fairness to the villagers, if the village was built haphazardly it wasn’t though lack of competence or care, merely a lack of forward planning. The rice paddies themselves and the roads joining them - like the one he walked on now - were always meticulously maintained; more of the life of the village, So-min sometimes thought, resided there than in any of the ramshackle houses clinging to the tumble of decking that he rather perfunctorily referred to as home.

_Home_. He supposed it was his home, really - the village, when people spoke of it at all, was known as Ryokuryuu village, and wasn’t _he_ Ryokuryuu? -  but it didn’t feel much like it. For one thing, he only returned a few times a year these days, and then only out of a weary sense of obligation, for the few festival days the village still celebrated that traditionally required his presence, or for the more practical reason of helping with the harvest; he liked those visits better, despite the fact that his stay was usually longer. Anything that kept him busy, that kept him from dwelling on the past, or worse, on the future he didn’t have.

But then, there were still days when he _did_ feel the call of home, whatever that was. Days when the winter bit a little too cold, or he ran out of food or money. Or days like today, when the fact that he had no other place in the world where people knew his face threatened to rise up and swallow him.

He trudged across the frozen ground, his head down against the wind, wondering if, despite everything, he might prefer not to return this winter at all. Still, it wasn’t as though he had anywhere else to go, he thought. At least in the village, there were people who cared for him; a family, though a strange one. And then there were all the villagers, people who knew his name, who gave him some measure of familiarity even if it was always tempered by a rather stiff formality and awkwardness that was, he supposed, the inevitable result of his position as Ryokuryuu; being the pin that held the village together, it seemed natural enough that he should never really be quite part of it.

Sometimes, he caught himself thinking that freedom was a little overrated.

Still, it wasn’t as though So-min didn’t prefer it that way. He hardly ever went hungry, he even had a few friends of sorts - though no one was that close to him amongst the wanderers and bandits and scoundrels he saw occasionally on the roads - and the wild lands eased his heart some. He had claimed this half-wandering life for his own by now, and when he thought about it at all he was, in his way, happy. It was some sort of existence at least.  

At least for a little while longer.

That thought made him frown into the scarf around his neck. It had been some years ago – _six now? Yes_ _,_ _and_ _it would be seven by the spring_ \- when he had felt it, and the memory was still bitter. He had felt it like a kick to his chest at first, knocking him off balance; he had been in the air at the time, but it had been strong enough that there was no mistaking it for the turbulent buffeting of the wind. He had nearly fumbled his landing too, the blood rushing up as though from his dragon leg itself, turning his body momentarily numb as he stumbled on the grassy ground, only saved from falling on his face by the grace of his balance that was still better than any normal human’s. He had been breathing hard as he leaned heavily against the thick roots of a tree, half on his knees as he caught back the breath that seemed to have been knocked from his lungs. And it was then, behind the brightness spotted blackness of his eyelids, that he first saw it; the new-blooming glow of vivid green, just on the edge of his field of view.

Or perhaps it was not quite accurate to say that he _saw_ it, So-min thought sometimes; it was more like he _felt_ it, as though the light had always been there in his head, but had just been waiting for the time to flare to life.

He supposed that was true too. He had always known that one day his successor would be born, even before his own predecessor had wasted away and died, far enough back in So-min’s childhood memories that the man was not much more than a blur of fading green, a rough voice and a face lined and weary with premature age.

Those memories had been on his mind a lot lately, as the ebbing of the power from his dragon’s leg became more noticeable every day.

Still, he knew he should count himself lucky. At the very least he didn’t have to actually see the child that would sap his power and his life away, watch them growing stronger every single day; he was fortunate in that his successor had been born somewhere quite far outside the village, which, though not exactly a common occurrence, was hardly unheard of. It was said that the blood of their people – human blood or dragon’s blood or some combination of the two? So-min didn’t know - conferred a certain contrariness as well as the usual wanderlust, and in the past, he knew, the dragons had travelled even more than recent generations had. Apparently they had also enjoyed the company of the locals enough that there were small pockets of people with telltale dark greenish hair to prove they carried a dash or more of the dragon’s blood, all over the country. The village in its current form was by no means the first - So-min had no idea where the first had been, and perhaps it was lost to history anyway - it was merely the largest, or perhaps the most closely knit.

But every few generations, a dragon was born far away. It was not considered much of an anomaly; So-min had been one such himself - though he had grown up in the village, from a young age. But when it had become clear his successor would never truly be a part of his life he had given thanks to the gods he so rarely spared a thought for, for that small kindness at least. He, for his part, wanted absolutely nothing to do with his successor; after that first burst of connection between them, he had soon learned to shut away the sense he had of that faraway child. There was a knack to it, shutting out that green light, and he had become good at it over the years.

Yet still, sometimes he would reach out, just to check. He wasn’t sure if it was the strange warmth and comfort that that connection admittedly brought him - merely an effect of his dragon’s blood calling out to its own, nothing more, So-min had to remind himself periodically - or whether it was for the reassurance that that light wasn’t at its full brightness yet, that he still had time left.

Either way, he did it now, reflexively reaching out with his senses before he had time to think better of it. He knew roughly where it should be; somewhere to the east, in the wilder lands bordering the forest. He didn’t know what his successor’s life was like and he didn’t care, but he knew the approximate direction at least.

Which is why he frowned, sensing nothing in that direction. He stopped walking, a little perturbed; perhaps it was even further away?

He reached out, in ever widening circles; if it had only been a cursory glance before, now his curiosity had been piqued, almost in spite of himself.

His eyes widened.

He shook his head, to clear it. No, that couldn’t be right. It almost felt like the bright green light was… well, right _here._ Or at least very close by. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? That child had been born outside the village, and had been kept at a merciful distance each time that So-min had been able to bring himself to check.

Had the child’s parents brought the young dragon back to the village? That was plausible enough. After all, So-min himself had been born on the road, brought back to the village at a few weeks old and deposited like an unwanted parcel on the threshold of his predecessor’s house in the dead of a winter not so very different from this one. It was entirely possible that the parents had been unable - or unwilling - to look after a growing Ryokuryuu, had made the journey and left the child in the hands of the village Elder.

But no, he thought - and this was where he truly began to doubt his own senses. That green light was _close_ , and the village was still half a day’s travel away from here, going by the familiar weathered stone marker a little way ahead. It almost felt as if the light was on the road with him, he thought.

But that made no sense. So-min frowned deeper, turning in a circle, pulling down his hood despite himself so that he could see all around. All he could see for miles in every direction were frozen over terraced fields, and the road that arced gently through them. The was a little cluster of crows pecking at the ground a few fields away, black specks amid grey and brown, but apart from the birds he was entirely alone.  

And yet, the more he reached out, the more certain he was that he _wasn’t_ alone.

“Ryokuryuu…?” he said, quietly, the mist of his breath caught by the breeze. His own voice was rather scratchy with disuse - _how many days had it been since he’d last spoken to another person?_ \- and he felt foolish almost immediately.

“Oh, never mind” So-min said aloud, drawing his hood back up and hefting his bow, quiver and pack over his shoulder once more.  

He was just turning to carry on walking - staring resolutely at the ground, his mood sour - when he caught that flash of green light moving again, just a little way behind him. He frowned, trying to resist the temptation to turn back and look again - _why should he care, anyway?_ \- and trudged forward.

It was no good though; in only a few moments, his curiosity had again overcome his resolve, and he turned, quickly enough to see a flash of real movement, rather than the more ephemeral dragon sense. _There_. The dry grass was long and tufty at the lip of the path, where it fell off into a ditch that separated the terrace from the sloping path. In the summer, water would flow there, but now it was dry. In fact, it would be the perfect place for a person - granted, it would have to be a rather small person - to hide so that they could not be seen from the path, while still following it along its course.

So-min was no longer curious, but annoyed now; how long had he been followed, without him even noticing? And in such an open landscape too. It was enough to hurt what little pride he had left. He turned back, and sure enough, as he came closer, there was the top of a straw hat, not quite hidden as someone crouched behind the tufts of dry grass.

With a hand on the dagger at his belt - though only resting lightly - he reached out, very slowly, peering over the edge.

A moment later, he had the breath knocked from him as something small and fast came hurtling towards his chest, with a high-pitched shriek that cut his ears in the quiet stillness. If it hadn’t been for his dragon leg, he would think later, he would have been sent flying off the other side of the path by that impact, and probably into the ditch beyond. As it was, he merely fell back painfully on one knee, caught off guard and thrusting his boot heel into the frozen ground a little too late to save his dignity entirely. After a moment of grappling with his attacker however - who more than made up for their small size and lack of strength in both loud voice and flailing limbs, So-min though dazedly - he found himself knocked backwards after all, head hitting the ground painfully as small arms went around his chest, seemingly determined to squeeze the life out of him.

“ _It’s you, it’s you, it’s really yoooouuuu!_ ” shrieked a high voice - a child’s voice - a moment later heavily muffled in the folded fabric at the shoulder of So-min’s cloak. He raised his head, wincing, and felt the cold confirmation of his fears, as the child’s woven straw hat came loose and he caught sight of green hair.

Still, So-min came to his senses a little at that sight, managing to grasp the child by the wrists and extricate himself, working around the prolonged clinging by dropping them unceremoniously on the ground in front of him. Immediately, he turned away, picking up the straw hat before it blew away and thrusting it forward. “Here.” _Anything to buy a little more time, because when he looked, that would make it real, that would mean_ ….    

Bright purple eyes just a scant shade lighter than his own met his gaze, held it for a long moment, as the two of them stared at each other, a transfixed moment that seemed to stretch on and on.

The child grinned with the utmost joy, revealing rather pointed teeth, the front two of which were missing. “Hello! I’m Ara.” A deep bow. “I came to live with you. Can we go home now?”

So-min blinked, as Ara took the hat he offered, securing it briskly over flyaway green hair that had become hopelessly tangled. “Excuse me?”

“I said, I came to live with - ”

“I heard what you said. Not on your life. Go home, boy.”

Ara glared. “I’m a girl.”

So-min squinted. It was hard to tell under all the dirt smudging her face, but he could believe it. He frowned, his eyes catching sight of her bare right foot, telltale green dragon scales glinting even under the coating of mud, making his heart jump to his throat. “Boy, girl, doesn’t matter. Go home. You don’t belong here.”

Ara looked genuinely confused. “But…. you’re Ryokuryuu, right?”

“Yes” he admitted, stiffly. “What of it?”

“I’m Ryokuryuu, too!” she announced, holding up her right foot proudly, wiggling clawed toes.  

“Yes, I noticed that” he snapped, then regretted his sharpness almost immediately. Suddenly she looked very small, and very alone, with no one around for miles in every direction. Very cold too, now that he thought about it. She was wearing a light shoe on her other foot, but it was torn at the toe, hopelessly worn through and certainly not suitable for the winter. Her clothes, too, were far too light, and sure enough, her fingertips were red and her small body was shivering all over. Yet despite the fact that she must surely be close to frostbite, she was still beaming as though it was the best day of her life.

_Well, perhaps it was_. He sighed. “Just what are you doing here?”

“I came to find you of course, Ryokuryuu!”  

“So-min” he said, wincing.  

“So-min!” she lit up as though he had just given her a precious jewel, rather than his name. “That’s a pretty name!”

“No it’s not. It’s just a regular name.”

“I like it” announced Ara. “I like you too. Are we friends yet?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “But you’ll still look after me, right So-min?”

“No!” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “I mean… ahhh…” he struggled for words. “Why would you think I would look after you?”

She tilted her head, as though he was the stupid one. “Because you’re Ryokuryuu. Just like me!”

He rolled his eyes. _This was going nowhere_. “I suppose we’re… distantly related, through the dragon’s blood. But that doesn’t mean I’ll look after you. Don’t you have a family, kid?”

She hung her head. She carried a little leather satchel at her side - her only possession, apparently - and she clutched it close to her chest, then. “Mama died” she said. “That’s why I ran away.”

“…I see.” That had raised more questions than it answered, but, he thought, they were questions for another time. Hopefully never. “Do you have a father? Any other family?”

She scrunched up her face, as though deep in thought. “No, it was always just Mama and me, we never stayed in one place…” she brightened. “Are _you_ my father, So-min?”

“Wha- _no!_ ” he spluttered. That was one thing he was blessedly sure of, at least. “I can assure you I am _not_.”

“Oh” she looked a little sad. “I’d like it if you were. You’re nice.”

That was it, he was completely lost now. _Where had he given her_ that _impression in all this?_ “That’s as may be” he huffed. “You still can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…” he frowned. “I don’t…” he sighed. “You know what? I’ll take you back to the village. We can find someone to take you in there.”

“But Mama said never to trust strangers!”

“ _I’m_ a stranger” he pointed out.

“Don’t be silly, you’re not a stranger! You’re Ryokuryuu!”

“That doesn’t mean you know me.”

Her eyes widened in shock as she stared up at him from under the wide brim of her straw hat. “But I do! I’ve known you since I was little! You feel like a light in my head!” She frowned. “Don’t you have that too?”

“Well, yes, but….” he allowed, grudgingly. “You still shouldn’t trust me.”  

“Oh.” She fiddled with the frayed hem of her tunic. “Are you a bad person then? Is that why?”

_How was he supposed to answer that one?_ “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, which?”

“You don’t know. It could be either. That’s the point.”

She frowned, clearly not understanding.  

“The point is, anyone could be trying to harm you. You never can tell from just meeting them.”

“Oh, I know” she said, matter-of-factly. “Some of the people Mama fought were bad people. But she always fought them off with her spear, and they ran away!” she said gleefully, before her face fell again. “Only now I don’t have Mama anymore to fight bad people. One day I’ll grow big and strong and I’ll be able to fight them myself, but I thought maybe you could, until then?”

So-min made the mistake of looking down into her face, tipped up to look up at him from under the brim of her hat. Large eyes peered up at him, beseechingly.

So-min bit back a curse. “Ach. Alright.” He held up a hand, stilling her renewed screech of delight. “But only until we get back to the village. Understand?”

He didn’t think she had heard those last words, all things considered, as she was jumping all around him in a circle, a little higher than his head. _Already she can_ _jump_ _that high_ , thought So-min, a familiar cold dread settling heavily in his stomach. _The higher she jumps, the less time is left to me_. He had known this for some time, of course, and he supposed he would have to accept it one way or another.  

He gave a resigned sigh. _This was going to be a long journey home_.

“Hey, kid. Calm down for a moment, will you?”

She immediately landed in front of him, throwing up a little shower of dust. “Okay.” She took his hand, before he could withdraw it. He froze, caught by surprise, but she didn’t seem to notice his reaction, merely clutching his fingers. Her hands was very small and cold where they touched his bare fingers, exposed by his archer’s gloves, and suddenly So-min’s attention was caught once more by how cold she must be, in only a threadbare tunic and trousers, a cloak nowhere near thick enough. “Are you cold, girl?” he muttered.

“Huh?”

“I said, are you cold?”

She clutched his hand harder. “Uh… a little bit” she admitted. “Not as much now I’m on the ground.” She waved her free hand. “It’s colder up in the sky. Windy.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to tell me that.” He grimaced; she could already jump high enough that it was noticeably colder? She was stronger in her power than he had thought, then. “What about your shoes?” he snapped. “Your dragon’s foot is one thing, but no amount of power will stop you getting frostbite in your other foot.”

She winced. “I grew out of them.” She raised her other foot, showing the sewn leather shoe that looked more like a sandal than anything with the amount of holes in it, her pink toes sticking out at the tip. “Mama was going to get me new ones next time we stopped in a village, but…” she hung her head, face hidden once more beneath her hat.

He sighed, extricating his hand from hers and taking off his pack, his bow and his quiver, laying them carefully on the ground. “ _Don’t_ touch that” he barked at Ara, when she peered curiously at them.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He took off his cloak and placed it over her shoulders; predictably, it was far too long for her, crumpling on the ground in folds even as her head and shoulders vanished inside the deep hood. She giggled, dancing around and getting hopelessly tangled. Her satchel strap was caught in it, he noticed; he went to help her, thinking to pull it loose, but at that moment her manner changed completely; as soon as he laid his hand on the leather strap the child was bristling, curling protectively around the bag. So-min blinked, surprised, and backed hastily away; whatever was in that bag, she clearly didn’t want anyone else to touch it. “Alright, well that won’t work.” After thinking a moment, he gently helped her to extricate herself from the cloak - making sure not to touch the bag, or to make any sudden movements - then unwound his scarf, and put it around her shoulders. On a child, it was almost like a cloak itself, but even that trailed along the ground, until he wound it many times around her, then once over the top of her hat for good measure.

Ara’s smile was back, as quickly as it had left; she snuggled into the lumpy woven cloth as though in surprise. “It’s so warm!”

“Yes, well. Come on” said So-min, clearing his throat. “You can have more warm clothes when we get to the village. And some shoes too.”

“Yay! Are you going to fly me there? I can fly quite high too, when I try really hard! ….But I don’t know where to go.”

_Was_ he going to fly her there? So-min considered, quickly coming to the conclusion that he really didn’t have much alternative. Walking might take a day, with the slow pace set by an exhausted little girl, Ryokuryuu though she may be, and there was snow on the horizon. But even with the fading of his powers, in the sky So-min could probably make the journey in a mere few hours, while the calm weather lasted. And so he picked Ara up gingerly, holding her in the crook of one arm; if he had had any worries that she might slip from his arms, they were soon dispelled as she clung to his cloak, cradled between his encircling arm and his hip. “Yes. Yes, I'm going to fly you there.” And without waiting for an answer, So-min jumped into the sky.


	2. Home is where the start is

The journey, as it happened, was an exhausting though largely uneventful one. Still, So-min had to admit he felt a fierce rush of joy and exhilaration being back in the sky again, the rush and slap of the wind against his face and the biting chill of the air up here in the clouds as familiar as the house he’d grown up in, calling to his blood which echoed back its song. It was about when he saw the fields disappear below him like a patchwork quilt sewn in shades of winter grey, the roads winding like brown ribbons, that he realised quite how much he had missed this.

He was also heartened when he realised he had not lost quite as much of the strength in his dragon’s leg as he had feared. Or perhaps, somehow, the proximity of the warm light of Ara’s bright presence made him stronger; almost as though she was _supposed_ to be here at his side.   

That was probably a ridiculous notion though, and at any rate, So-min didn’t spend much time dwelling on it. Though he wasn’t quite as weak as he had feared he had become, it was still a draining effort, sapping his energy.    

Ara, on the other hand, seemed to be quite unaware of the sweat on So-min’s brow and the catch in his breath, and was apparently enjoying herself thoroughly. Each time he jumped, she shrieked with delight - uncomfortably near his ear - squirming and reaching out with her hands when they were in the air so that once or twice there was a heart-stopping moment when he thought he might drop her.  

“Would you stop that?” he had snapped, as he landed from his third jump.

Ara had immediately ceased her high-pitched giggling and peered, round-eyed and contrite, from beneath the folds of the scarf. “Sorry, So-min” she mumbled, kicking her feet lightly as he hefted her higher on on his hip, trying to make sure he was holding her securely. “I’ll be quiet from now on, I promise!” She promptly closed her mouth, covering it with both hands.  

He relented a little. “Ah…. you don’t need to be completely silent. Just…. please stop…. screaming.”

She took her hands away from her mouth warily. “Talking is alright?”

He nodded. “Talking is fine. I suppose.”

“Oh! Then can you tell me all about the village? Or will you show me around when we get there? Do you have lots of friends? Do you have a really big family? Can I meet them all? Can we go to lots of other places you like too? Can we - ”

“One question at a time, kid.”

“Oh…. okay then. Please can you tell me about… everything?”

“That’s a pretty big question.”

“But you said one question! And it _is_ only one….. and I need to learn all about the village if I’m going to live there with you forever!”

She still didn’t seem to understand that they would only be travelling companions for the journey to the village, he thought. He sighed. “Not much I can tell, really” So-min said; her question of his family had set him thinking of In-na and Jae-gyu. Yes, they would surely be able to take in a child. How they would react when he asked them to take in this _particular_ child was another matter entirely, but he would try his best, even though the gods knew So-min owed both of them favours upon favours already. He would ask In-na first, he thought; she was usually able to be won over, and was also the one person who had ever been able to convince Jae-gyu into any course of action that she wasn’t already set on.

“Oh, it’s a surprise then?” asked Ara, breaking into his thoughts and making him realise he hadn’t really answered her properly. Well, perhaps it was for the best that So-min was going to be around people again, whether he liked it or not.

“Yes” he said quickly. “It’s a surprise.” He held her close and jumped once more; her arms were uncomfortably tight around his neck, but, on balance, he had worse problems.

“I know!” said Ara, when they were in the air. “How about I tell you all about me instead?”    

“Hmm?” he turned his head to be met with her pink-cheeked face, leaning against his shoulder, and felt an unexpected rush of… well, if he didn’t know better he would say it was _tenderness_ , of all things.

At any rate, it was probably just the dragon’s blood; he supposed it must confer some sort of instinct to protect the next generation. He let out his breath. “Ah… sure, go for it kid.”

And that was how So-min learned more about Ara than he had ever expected or cared to know as they flew through the air, her voice loud in his ear and her shoulder bag bumping against his side. He learned that she was six years old and that her seventh birthday was in the spring, coming up in four months (which he already knew), that her favourite stories were of King Hiryuu and the four dragon warriors (which he suspected he could have guessed), and that her favourite dragon warrior was Ryokuryuu (which he _certainly_ could have guessed). Ara also told him that she could read a little and write her name, a skill which she solemnly promised that she would demonstrate for him when they reached the village, on account of having nothing to write with at the present moment.

She also told him with some pride that she could count to twenty, and this she really did demonstrate, yelling out a number each time So-min touched down from a jump. By number five, he had given up trying to quiet her and become resigned to turning quickly deaf in one ear. _Probably not even the worst that was likely to come of this_ , he thought despondently.        

By number thirteen (though Ara herself admitted, with some consternation, that she had started late) they stopped, having reached the great waystones that marked the beginning of the bridge. The bridge was a simple covered wooden affair, but it marked the way across the ditch to the tangle of decking and rope bridges, railings and walkways and houses on stilts that made up the village.

So-min set Ara down on her feet, and she took his hand as they crossed, peering curiously around at the storehouses and the bamboo fence, waving at the gate guards so that they looked at So-min in puzzlement, before dropping rather perfunctory bows as they realised who he was.  

He frowned. Well, it was true he hadn’t been back all winter. For a figure of such erstwhile importance in the village, he supposed he should show his face here more; Jae-gyu was always telling him so, ever mindful as she was of the state of the village and the proper roles of everyone in it.

Ara was lagging, so he tugged gently at her hand, climbing onto a spiral walkway and leading her towards a house near the centre of the village, by the side of the main board walk encircling the central square. He paused for a moment before knocking at the door, struck suddenly by how familiar it looked; tall and narrow and built of slatted wood, with its pitched, well-maintained roof - he himself had repaired that roof, several times - all just a little more weathered than the last time he had been here, but otherwise just the same as all the years he had lived here himself.  

So-min shook his head to clear it of any troublesome nostalgia, and knocked.

“Just a minute!” The voice - combined with the familiar tapping of a stick on the floor - hit So-min like an impact to the chest. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it though, as after a moment the door opened, revealing a short, round-faced woman of middle age, leaning on a walking stick, her cropped, curling green-brown hair shot with just a little more silver than the last time he had returned here.

Her eyes widened. “So-min?”

“Hello, In-na” said So-min awkwardly. “Ah… I’m sorry it’s been a while.”

But before he could say more, he was enfolded in a hug, her arms going around his waist and her head on his shoulder. “Don’t _ever_ apologise for coming home, my boy.” She drew back, her eyes glimmering with tears, the sight making him feel a twinge of guilt. She looked him up and down, critically. “You look thin. Have you been eating properly?”

Frustratingly, So-min felt himself blush. “Yes, yes, I’m fine….” he muttered. Then he remembered why he was here. “But never mind that now” he said, realising that Ara was half hiding behind him and giving her a gentle push. “In-na. I found….”

But he didn’t continue; he didn’t have to. In-na clearly knew exactly who - or rather _what_ \- the girl was, going by the look of mingled surprise and joy in her soft violet eyes.

So-min attempted not to roll his eyes, as In-na leaned forward with difficulty so that she was closer to Ara’s. “In-na, this is Ryokuryuu Ara. I met her on the road. Ara, this is my… ah… my adoptive mother, In-na.”

 _Adoptive mother_ was probably as good a term as any, he thought. What In-na actually was was his mentor and his predecessor’s widow who had raised him largely as her own, and that in his mind was very different from an adopted mother, especially with Jae-gyu to complicate their little family even further. But for now, it was good enough, and certainly saved on explanations. In-na herself shot him a surprised, proud smile when he said it too, before bowing as best she could to Ara, who, once again, was smiling so happily So-min was afraid her face might split.

“Pleased to meet you, Mistress In-na!”

“It’s a great and unexpected honour!” she said, rounding on So-min with enough ferocity to make him frown. “So-min! What were you thinking letting her walk around like that in this cold, hmm? And the poor girl, she looks half starved! Why didn’t you bring her straight to me, I was already making rice balls, and I’ll make tea in half a minute.” She bustled into the house, shepherding Ara before her, leaving So-min standing there on the doorstep, mildly put out. “Mind you shut the door tight against the weather, So-min dear, it looks likely to snow. And leave your bow on the stand like I always tell you! There are enough weapons in the workshop without bringing them into the house too. Oh, my poor girl, are you cold? I still have some of my daughter’s clothes from when she was….” her voice cracked a little. “Hmm, or maybe some of So-min’s old things would fit you better. At any rate, sit by the fire and stay warm for now, I’ll start heating some water for your bath, child. So-min, could you please help me with the water, once you’re quite done idling? And after that you must have some tea, and a good long explanation. I haven’t seen a single hair of you for months, and suddenly you turn up like this? Quite disgraceful.”    

So-min sighed, conflicted feelings rising up as he stepped across the familiar threshold, inhaling the well-known smell of In-na’s cooking from the next room, of leather, or glue from the workshop, and of a warm wood fire in the hearth, its heat welcome against his cold face and hands. It was home, and as much as his freedom meant to him, So-min would always feel something for this place.  

He sighed, and closed the door behind him as In-na had instructed.

 

A little while later, Ara had been given a bath and dressed in dry clothes, and both she and In-na seemed to be in excellent moods. Ara was wrapped in a fur-lined blanket with slippers that had once been So-min’s on her feet, drinking from a cup of jasmine tea by the hearth and munching on a riceball, as In-na tried vainly to untangle her wet hair with a comb, her cane propped against the table. So-min had already recounted the story of their meeting on the road - Ara’s interjections about how So-min had fallen over and how good and nice he was making him blush, and In-na laugh - and now they had lapsed into silence as So-min put another log on the fire, to save In-na’s bad leg.

“And how’s trade been?” So-min asked In-na, hoping to smooth over the gap left by several months of his absence. In-na was a fletcher by trade, and a highly skilled one at that. Her arrows flew the straightest and truest of any in the village or out of it, and they were more than weapons; they were beautiful, So-min had always thought. Almost like a deadly form of art; fleeting and devastatingly accurate, fletched with sleek pale grey feathers, they were the only arrows So-min would ever fill his own quiver with.

Her workshop adjoined to the back of the house, and each time he came home it seemed she had taken over a little more of the upper storeys with her tools and finished products. In-na had once been an archer too, before the accident; a fall, that had shattered her ankle badly. It had never healed well, leaving her walking with a cane and a limp, but though she could not stand easily enough to shoot she still knew the curve of a bow better than anyone in the village, the tension of a string, could cut grey goose feathers with absolute precision, patience, and the steadiest of hands.

In-na’s eyes lit up at the mention of her beloved craft. “Oh, wonderfully!” she said. “I’ve expanded my workshop, and I’ve got a new apprentice starting in just a few days, actually!”

“Really?” So-min was genuinely surprised and happy for her; In-na hadn’t felt able to take on an apprentice in years. “Your fame must be spreading.”

She smiled, a glimmer in her eyes, as she laid her hand proudly on So-min’s shoulder. “Perhaps, perhaps. Still, something tells me that it might be _your_ fame that’s spreading, with all the travelling you’ve been doing, my dear. My very own protégé Ryokuryuu So-min is a skilled archer, which has to count for something!” She grinned. “Maybe that’s what’s been bolstering my business all these years, hmm?”

So-min felt himself blush. “I doubt it” he said, bluntly. “I’m not _that_ skilled, anyway.”

“Nonsense. Don’t sell yourself short like that, So-min. Hitting a target from the ground is one thing, but from the air is quite another. Have you shown Ara what you can do yet?”

So-min schooled his face into a neutral expression to hide his grimace. “No” he said shortly. “Not yet.” In truth, he had not shot arrows from the air in a long while; he had hardly jumped higher than the treetops in months, not wanting to remind himself of the fading power in his leg unless he absolutely had to, and most animals he hunted were easy enough to catch from the ground. He supposed it was just another skill that was wasted on someone like him.

“Then you must show her!” said In-na. “He’s really very good you know, Ara.”

“Oh, yes So-min! Please show me how to shoot arrows from the air!”

Ara’s eyes were positively sparkling, and So-min felt a renewed rush of annoyance; In-na was being her usual kind and bustling self, but for a woman who had been married to the previous Ryokuryuu she certainly seemed to brush off the failing of his power as a small thing, when in reality he felt the shadow of death follow him in his tracks, binding him a little tighter to the frozen ground each day. This would be his last winter, So-min knew.

Perhaps In-na didn’t know though, it occurred to him; or at least didn’t realise how close that spectre lurked. It was not as though she had seen much of him - or any of him, in fact - in months, and she had never seen Ara before today.

He sighed. “Alright. One day I’ll show you.”

“Yay!”

 

“In-na, where’s Jae-gyu? Is she travelling?” asked So-min curiously, a little later. He had rather been dreading seeing Jae-gyu, truth be told; while he had suspected that In-na would react exactly like this to the girl, he found himself completely unable to say what effect the appearance of a new Ryokuryuu would have on Jae-gyu. Granted, with Jae-gyu’s rather inscrutable nature, he was little able to predict what effect _anything_ would have on her, her moods darker and more mercurial that In-na’s open-hearted, brisk kindness.

But Jae-gyu had also been Geon’s sister, before he had died and So-min had inherited the full power of the dragon’s leg. Even as young as he was then, he had seen the effect it had had on Jae-gyu, the darkness in her eyes as she had grieved, the distance she had put between herself and So-min for many years. It was only In-na, he suspected, that had brought her back, made her face So-min once more. In-na was always the one who saved Jae-gyu, kept her from the black moods that So-min had learned to recognise as he grew older.

More memories came then, of several years after Geon’s death, when Joona - Geon and In-na’s daughter - had left. That, too, had been a winter just like this one, and So-min had been fast asleep in their shared room when Joona had picked up her spear and a bundle of clothes and food and slipped away in the night, never to be seen by any of them again. She had been seventeen at the time, and So-min fifteen. Now he was twenty-four, and he had long ago resigned himself to never again seeing the girl he had grown up close as siblings with, in the short years that remained of his life, if she was even still alive herself.  

“Jae-gyu went to the herbalist for my medicine, then to Ji’s to buy rice” said In-na, breaking into So-min’s reminiscence and peering out of the low window in slight consternation. “I do wonder what’s delayed her though. I hope she returns before the snow.”

So-min was certain it would take much more than a little snow to phase Jae-gyu, but he knew In-na worried anyway. He gave an encouraging smile. “Oh, she probably just got into an argument with Elder Bo-seon again.”

That had the desired effect of making In-na smile. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”  

At that moment, there was a blast of cold air, making the curtain that divided the room from the entranceway dance and bright beads that In-na had stitched onto it glimmer; Ara stared, mesmerised, her riceball half in her mouth and seemingly forgotten.

For a moment later, the curtain parted, and Jae-gyu stood there, holding a large bag of rice, with an expression of wide-eyed surprise on her usually stony features.

She was a tall, statuesque woman with rather hooded, dark eyes, her long hair pinned as ever into a severe bun high on her head. So-min had often wondered if Geon would have looked similar to her now, had he lived; they were twins after all, though Geon’s hair had been the true, dark green of the Ryokuryuu, rather than inky black with a greenish sheen, as hers was. Or at least it had been; Jae-gyu’s hair was turned more to salt and pepper now, with two thicker streaks of silver at the temples. Geon had not lived long enough to be touched by that particular frost.

Jae-gyu’s moment of wide-eyed surprise at the sight of So-min and Ara was apparently short-lived, for a moment later her steely composure was back. She put down her bag of rice with measured precision. Then she bowed to Ara, and, with a slightly knowing smile to So-min, said, “my, well hasn’t it been a long time since we’ve welcomed a Ryokuryuu to our hearth, let alone two at once. Pleased to meet you, child. And So-min. Welcome home.”  

Ara quailed, and So-min didn’t blame her; if he hadn’t known her for most of his life, he too would have probably found her rather commanding presence frightening at first too.

Jae-gyu slipped off her dark, heavy outdoor cloak and came to sat down beside In-na, who leaned over and kissed her cheek, making her mouth turn up just a very little at the corners. Jae-gyu accepted the cup of tea In-na offered with a grateful nod, took a long sip, then leaned forward, steepling her fingers as she regarded So-min and Ara with a critical eye, that did not mask the lingering hint of a smile. “So” she said. “Will an explanation for this sudden visit be forthcoming?”  

So-min nodded, and with Ara’s interjections – and now In-na’s – he began to tell his tale again.

 

“So that’s it, really” said So-min, after he had finished. “So… I brought her here.”

“Hmmm” said Jae-gyu thoughtfully, sipping tea. She seemed to be in a good mood today, which felt like a relief to So-min. At first he thought - hoped - it might be because he had returned home, but quickly dismissed that notion; Jae-gyu was always the softer side of herself when she returned to In-na’s side, he thought as he watched In-na run her thumb in soft, calming circles over the back of Jae-gyu’s hand.

As Jae-gyu tilted her head, her single earring caught the light; a fine drop-shaped pearl of a rare pale violet, passed down in their family for many generations from some distant Ryokuryuu of the past, who had travelled all the way to the Water Tribe lands to get them for his male lover, it was said. So-min didn’t know if that was true, but he knew the earrings had been a wedding present when In-na had married Geon, but after his death, she had given one to Jae-gyu, who wore it always, her only concession to ornament in her otherwise rather austere appearance and penchant for plain, dark clothes. In-na wore its pair, around her neck on a strip of leather, close to her heart.

He was glad, at least, that the two of them had found each other. In the years after Geon’s death, it had been the subject of much rather pointed talk, the widow of the previous Ryokuryuu _taking up with_ his twin sister, as the village gossips put it with many a raised eyebrow. But the reality was much different; now that So-min no longer saw them through the eyes of a six-year-old child caught in a web of grief and conflicted feelings about his predecessor, he saw that it they were very good for each other. It had been almost the only thing had held their little family together in those dark days – for all of them took the loss of Geon hard - and the gods knew that none of them would have got through the loss of Joona nine years later, if not for the strength of the two of them, binding their family close against the pain.  

“And what will you do now?”

So-min blinked in surprise at Jae-gyu’s question. “I suppose…” in truth, he hadn’t thought that far ahead, and he was certain Jae-gyu knew it. She had a way like that. Yet she waited in patient, neutral silence for his answer. “I suppose I will leave Ara here and - ”

“What?” shouted Ara. She had been drowsing, but now she started up, jumping a little off her seat. “So-min? You wouldn’t… you won’t…. I mean….” she looked doubtfully from In-na to Jae-gyu and back again. “I mean…. everyone’s so nice here, but… you said that I could live with you!”

“What!” protested So-min. “No I didn’t!”

“You said you’d teach me things! You said you’d teach me how to shoot a bow!”

“Ah…” he _had_ said that, just a short while before. He bit his lip. “Well, if you live with In-na and Jae-gyu, they can teach you…. and…” she looked as though she was about to cry and he hastily went back on himself, trying to ignore the way the dragon’s blood was making him want to protect her. Surely that was what it was. “I can….. ah…. come back and see you sometimes?”

“I would certainly hope you would” said Jae-gyu. There was a strange look on her face, and So-min realised that she was suppressing laughter. In-na’s face was split with a smile of affection at So-min’s helpless floundering. He felt immediately irritated.  

“Besides” said Jae-gyu, smiling now, her dark eyes glimmering with it. “This child deserves better than to be marooned with two such dull old women as us. Have you considered that, So-min?”

“You’re not old” muttered So-min, frowning. It was true, they weren’t; In-na was still the most vigorous and hardworking person he knew in spite of her bad leg, and he suspected Jae-gyu was just as strong as she was fifteen years ago, when she had been a formidably harsh teacher at the sword, spear, and, with In-na’s critical eye, the bow.  

But even as he said it he saw Jae-gyu smile, archly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, child. Have you considered what Ara wants?”

“I came to find So-min” said Ara immediately. “Because he’s Ryokuryuu, and I’m Ryokuryuu. And I knew he’d look after me. My friend Zeno said so too.”

“Friend?” asked So-min. “If you have a friend who knows things like that, why can’t they look after you?”

“So-min!” In-na admonished him.

“Zeno’s my _imaginary_ friend” said Ara, unfazed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He was with me on my journey. But he’s only from a story, so…” she tailed off.

“Well” said So-min, trying to fight the impression that he was being defeated. “I suppose I could take Ara with me when I travel… sometimes… no?”

In-na was shaking her head. “I know you value your freedom So-min, and we always respected that. You know we did. But Ara needs a place to call home. There was a reason we said you could only travel after you had come of age, and we agreed on that, even when you were younger.”

So-min looked from In-na to Jae-gyu to Ara, whose eyes had lit up all over again at the word home; there was something like _hope_ there, hope for something this girl who had probably lived her whole life on the road had never known. _Home_. Had he taken it for granted all these years…?

He sighed, defeated. Well, it was not as though he had much time left, either way. “….Alright” he said, wincing at Ara’s squeal of delight. “Alright, say I was to stay here in the village, and…. I don’t know, train Ara…” he wondered what he could even teach her; the bow, certainly, but of she was expecting some great lesson on what it meant to be Ryokuryuu he would have to disappoint her. _If he even lived long enough to teach her anything_ … So-min forced himself to think in practical terms; one thing at a time. “Then where would I live? Can I have my old room back?” It had been his and Joona’s, and then it had only been his. “What about Ara?”

“Ah” said In-na. “That might be a problem. Because, you see, I’ve been expanding my workshop, and… your old room was the only space we had left.”

“What?” exclaimed So-min, wondering why he was so shaken by this. “You took over my room?” It was good, he supposed, that In-na was moving on - past Joona, and soon enough she would have to move past him too, and she didn’t need the reminder that was _his_ old room. It was better this way - but still, he felt it unexpectedly sharply in his chest.

“The only space is in the loft room, but you’ll only have it for a few nights, before In-na’s new apprentice will need a place to sleep” said Jae-gyu, clearly proud as she clasped In-na’s hand. “In-na’s been doing very well for herself - for us - but you came at rather a bad time, I’m afraid.”  

So-min huffed, annoyed. _So much for the comforts of home_. “Well, I suppose after that we’ll just have to-”

But Jae-gyu hadn’t finished yet. “Still” she interrupted. “There is another option, of course.”

“Huh?” said So-min. “What are you - “ he froze. “Oh.” _Oh_. Surely Jae-gyu didn’t mean what he thought she meant. “You can’t mean the…. the old house, can you? I can’t live there!”

“Whyever not?” asked Jae-gyu, with a complete seriousness that made So-min quail, even more than the shuttered, empty house right in the centre of the village did.  

“Because… because…”  he cast around for the right words. “It was Geon’s house!” he protested.

“It’s the house of Ryokuryuu, traditionally” pointed out In-na. “So really, it’s been yours all along, So-min. Yours and Ara’s.”

“But we left it, after….” _A_ _fter Geon had died_. The place had held too many bad memories, he remembered Joona saying at the time, confiding to a wide-eyed So-min in whispers. _For adults, those were even worse; the longer you lived, the more they built up and haunted you like ghosts_. He had accepted that as inalienable truth when he was six; now he was twenty-four, he thought it even more true.  

“We left to expand In-na’s workshop” said Jae-gyu, tightly. “And because you were a child, and we were responsible for you, you came with us. But the house is yours, by right of blood.”

So-min ran distracted fingers through his hair, wondering what he was about to agree to and coming to the conclusion that his past self would think he was mad. _Still_. That past self who had began to wander from the village in search of… well, _something_ , he had never quite known what…. had certainly never found it out there in the wild lands. He gritted his teeth. It was just a house, he told himself. “……Alright” he said, looking down at Ara’s beaming face and wondering if he would regret this before his time was up.  

* * *

_**(Nine years earlier)** _

Joona was seventeen years old and sitting with her back to the wooden screen separating the kitchen from the main room, when her world changed forever.

She would often wonder later what would have happened if she had just been able to sleep that night. For then she would not have crept out of the room she still shared with So-min, past her mother’s workshop and towards the chinks of light at the screen’s edges. And if she had not done that, she would not have heard the quite voices of her mother and Jae-gyu, talking long into the night by candlelight as they so often did.

She would not have stopped to listen out of curiosity, hearing their voices rise a little as though they were arguing.

And then, of course, Joona would not have heard the words that altered the course of her life forever.

Jae-gyu and In-na argued on occasion; not as much now as she remembered right after her father died, but there were things they disagreed on. Still, that much was normal, and they were always kind to each other, settling their differences quickly afterwards.

But she had never heard them argue about anything like this before.

“He’s out there” Jae-gyu was saying, blunt as ever, though her voice cracked slightly with emotion. “I can’t believe that he’s dead. I _know_ he’s not.”

“No you don’t, my love. You don’t _know_ anything of the sort” said In-na, clearly trying to keep the weary sigh out of her voice as Joona listened with mounting curiosity. It was clearly a discussion they had had many times before, though never in Joona’s hearing. But who could they be talking about? Some long-lost relative perhaps?

“And even if he was alive….” continued In-na, as Joona listened, “there is no reason that he should come back here. He is _out of our lives_ , Jae-gyu. It’s over.”

“So-min” said Jae-gyu, simply. “He’s the reason. When he comes, it’ll be for the boy.”

That caught Joona’s attention; what was going on? What did So-min have to do with… whatever this was?

And why did Jae-gyu make it sound like he was in danger?

Joona’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her mother scoffing at Jae-gyu. “Even if there was a chance of that, we should worry about it if and when it happens. But…. but it’s ridiculous to worry! There’s still the fact that he’s _dead_ , Jae-gyu. He must be. Otherwise he would have returned long before now.”

And then there they were, the words that changed Joona’s life forever. “ _My brother is alive_ ” Jae-gyu said. “Somewhere out there, he’s alive. I know it.”

Joona’s eyes widened, her breath sticking in her throat.

 _Brother?_ Jae-gyu had said her brother was alive…. but her brother was Joona’s father, Ryokuryuu Geon, and he was dead. He had died years ago.

…. _Except that Joona had never actually seen him die_ ….

She and So-min had been outside the village, beyond the rice fields practicing their archery when it happened. So-min had felt something; had felt power rush to his dragon’s leg, had burst into tears because he knew what it meant, even as a child. Joona had held him as he had cried out in fear, already feeling preemptive dread as the realisation crept over her that by the time they got back to the village, her father would be gone.

But what if So-min had been wrong? Joona had seen his body, before he was burned and the ashes brought to the shrine of the Ryokuryuu. But now that she thought about it, the body had been draped in cloth; she had never seen a face.

In that case, could her father really still be alive?

Jae-gyu certainly seemed to think so. Joona blinked, realising that after only moments, her eyes were filled with hot tears. She had a hundred thousand questions, all jostling for space in her mind at once - _if Geon was alive, shouldn’t So-min be able to sense him? What was this danger that Jae-gyu seemed to think threatened So-min? Could a dragon warrior really survive the loss of their power?_ _And for so long too?_ \- but no answers. Instead there was only the grief rising up acute and unbidden once again, from where she had folded it away inside her heart nearly a decade ago. It came all at once, like a painful blow to the chest, making her ears buzz and her vision swim. She couldn’t help but choke out a sob.  

“What was that sound?”

Joona twitched at that, barely managing to keep herself from scrambling to her feet and making an even louder noise. She sat frozen like a rabbit before a hunter, listening with every bit of her awareness.

“What sound?” It had been Jae-gyu who had spoken, but now Joona heard her mother’s more placating voice.

“Outside the door… In-na, if one of the children heard…” Joona heard the tremble in her aunt’s voice. “I’ll check on them.”

“I’ll go” said her mother, making Joona nearly sigh with relief. If it was her mother with her slower limp, Joona could make it back to her room in time and pretend to have been asleep all along… probably…

“If So-min’s started sleepwalking started again…” Joona heard her mother make a sound of concern, but that was all; in another moment, she had broken into the fastest run she could make in complete silence - giving thanks for the days she and So-min had spent playing blind man in this hallway, giving her a working knowledge of which floorboards creaked when stepped on and which didn’t - skidded around the corner, nearly wrenching aside the screen door of the room the two of them shared. She stole a glance at him as she edged around the partition; So-min was asleep on his futon, curled up on one side and snoring lightly, but she heard him stir as Joona flung herself across the room and under her own covers, curling in on herself as she tried to slow her racing heartbeat and shallow breathing.

Only moments later came a knock on the door. “So-min? Joona?”  

Joona allowed herself a few moments before, in the best sleepy mumble she could affect, saying, “hmm? Mama? Is it morning already?”

She heard her mother sigh from outside the door, the clack of her cane against the frame as she gently slid open the screen, then pulled aside the partition between Joona and So-min’s sides of the room.“No, I just wanted to check… ah… that you were alright.”

Joona raised her head, pushing herself up on her elbows with narrowed eyes; her dishevelled hair certainly looked the part at any rate. “ ‘m fine” she grumbled. Not all of her annoyance was a pretence, she would admit later; she looked at her mother with new eyes, the realisation that – _outright or just by omission?_ \- she had lied to Joona and So-min still fresh and stinging.

“I’m glad.” Her mother tilted her head to one side, giving her an appraising look. “Were you awake, Joona? Couldn’t you sleep?”  

“Ah… yes… I mean no… I mean… So-min was sleepwalking again” blurted Joona, before she could think any further. “He woke me up. Just now.”

But So-min had come a little more awake now, frowning with drowsy indignation. “No I wasn’t!”

“He was” said Joona, wishing she could make it clear to So-min that she would repay him someday for going along with this lie for her.

She caught his eye, and even as sleepy-eyed as he still was, he seemed to understand her. “Ah… oh…” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Mmm… maybe I was… it’s hard to remember when I do that…”

Her mother sighed, sitting down with difficulty on the stool next to So-min, leaning down to stroke his hair. “So-min… you know if there’s anything worrying you you can speak to me, or Jae-gyu.” As Joona watched, she tenderly tucked a wayward green curl behind his ear. “Do you have nightmares like when you were little, So-min? Do you need some poppy tea to help you sleep?”

“I’m fine” said So-min, awkwardly raising his hands to return the hug he had been pulled into. “I don’t need any medicine. It… it won’t happen again. I’m not a baby anymore.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair, her voice almost cracking. “I know.”

For a second So-min shot Joona a helpless glance over her mother’s shoulder; she gazed back at him imploringly, willing him to understand, to go along with this. She wasn’t even sure why the idea of her mother and Jae-gyu finding out about her eavesdropping on that conversation was so frightening to her, but it was; there was something about the way they had spoken. And then,  why had they never mentioned any of this before? Her mind was spinning, she needed to think; she needed to do something.

 _And all this time, her father might be alive_ ….

“Joona? Is something wrong?”

Her mother’s voice jolted her abruptly out of her thoughts. “Ah…. no, I’m fine!” She affected a yawn. “Just… sleepy.”

Her mother gave a sad smile, the creases at the corners of her eyes carved deep in the dim light. Drawing her stool closer, she laid a warm, work roughened hand against Joona’s cheek, kissing her on the brow. “I know you look out for So-min” she said quietly. “I’m glad, Joona. I’m proud of you. So is Jae-gyu, and your father would be too. You know that don’t you?”  

Joona had to fight to keep her face straight. “Yes, mother” she said.

Her mother tucked the spare blanket around So-min’s exposed feet - one regular human skin, one bright scales, catching the moonlight from the window - and stood, levering herself up with her cane. “Back to sleep now, my darlings” she said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Mama.” Joona said, crawling deeper into her futon as So-min muttered a _goodnight_ , and the door slid shut.  

A little while later, So-min sat up. “Joona? I know you’re awake.”  

“Mmph. No I’m not” she mumbled; she hadn’t any idea how to even start telling So-min what she had heard tonight. She was sure he had a right to know, but on the other hand she wasn’t sure she really understood herself.

“Joona! It’s not fair, you never tell me anything!”

“It’s nothing.”

“Joona!”

He was looking back at her with as much defiance as a fifteen-year-old could summon - which was considerable - his eyes narrowed, arms folded as he turned away from her, curled up on his side. After a moment, he had to stifle a yawn, and that broke the tension; Joona found herself laughing, slightly hysterical giggles that were hard to push back.

So-min was indignant. “Hey! It’s not funny!”

He was right, of course; it wasn’t. She sighed. “Alright. Here’s the deal… you go to sleep now, and I’ll tell you in the morning.”

So-min huffed, sleepily. “You promise?”

She nodded. “I promise.”

“As soon as I wake up?”

“As soon as you wake up.”

He hesitated for a moment, then subsided. “….Fine. Goodnight, Joona.”

“Goodnight, So-min.”

After a while, she heard So-min’s breathing even out into sleep in the quiet of the room. But that night was one of the longest of Joona’s life; she lay on her back staring up at the familiar ceiling with wide eyes, as thoughts chased each other around her head. What did it mean? Why did Jae-gyu - who had known him best and longest, even longer than In-na had - think that Geon was alive? How could he possibly be? Apart from anything else, it was rare for a dragon warrior to reach the age of thirty, and completely unheard of to reach their forties, which was the age her father would be now.    

 _My brother is alive. I know it_.

The words rang in her head, sounding over and over. If it were true, then that raised even more questions, and more painful ones; why should he leave his family? Her father had loved her mother, and his sister, even though they fought sometimes. He had loved So-min in his way, though they were not as close as they could be. And he had loved Joona.

_Hadn’t he?_

And then there was the matter of the danger that Jae-gyu seemed to fear. Whatever _that_ was. She shuddered, looking over at So-min sleeping, as her mother had left the partition slightly open. He had rolled over so that his back was to her, but she could see a shock of soft green curls sticking out from under the cover in the pale grey light before dawn. One day, she knew, So-min would leave the village. It was practically expected of the Ryokuryuu to travel, and anyway, she supposed, his blood would yearn for it; it already did.  

Surely not. Surely her father - and how could he be alive? - would never hurt So-min. _Surely_ …. And yet…. and yet she had heard the words her mother and aunt had spoken, hadn’t she? There could be no misunderstanding them.  

If only someone could find him, Joona thought. If her father was out there, then surely he missed his family? She couldn’t believe that everything he had ever been - every moment of tenderness he had shared with his daughter - had been a lie. If he really was alive, then perhaps what he needed was someone to remind him of that.

_Someone like her._

Joona frowned at that thought; it felt dangerous. But then, Jae-gyu had said the danger was to So-min, hadn’t she? She hadn’t mentioned Joona. Nor had her mother.

Perhaps it really was the case that she was the only one that could bring him home. And if in doing so she could talk some sense into him, and protect So-min from whatever Jae-gyu feared, then that was all to the good.

As the night hours passed, the more certain Joona became; it had to be her.

 _Besides_ , said another voice in her mind as she watched So-min roll over in his sleep, a curl of his hair falling over his face and shifting with each breath, _So-min will die young too_. She had always known that, always dreaded outliving him. But if her father really had found some way to outlive the loss of his power, then surely it was Joona’s duty to find him, on the chance that So-min could be saved too?

Finally she sat up in bed. It was not yet dawn, but with her decision made, there was no time to waste.    

Quickly and silently, she packed a few essential things for her journey into her bag. It was easy; she and So-min had traveled together since they were just children, though back then they weren’t allowed to go very far. Not that either of them had paid much attention to the rules; in fact, breaking them was part of the fun of it.

Now, though, she would have to go alone. She finished packing, straightened up and shifted the partition fully open so that she could cross over to So-min’s side. He was still sound asleep, and she had to push down the sharp pang of guilt at how he might feel, waking to find her gone.

But no, she must not think like that. Until she knew what the danger was to So-min in all of this – until she had found her father, or at the very least the truth – then he would just have to get along without her.

She hefted her bag on her shoulder. It was light; she didn’t dare go to the store room to fetch food, she knew how to hunt well enough, with her short bow and her quiver full of arrows, and she even knew how to fish with her spear.

She frowned, glancing around the room to where their weapons stood by the door. So-min was better at archery than she was already – Joona knew her mother was proud of him – but she was better with the spear, learning from Jae-gyu who was both fearsome with her great double-bladed spear, and a remarkably good teacher.

Joona frowned at the thought of Jae-gyu, her mind inevitably going back to the conversation she had overheard, and so to her mission; she needed to leave, she knew. Now, or not at all.

She was just turning away, when her eyes lit on the stand in the corner of So-min’s side of the room, and the book that lay on it. The two of them had been sharing it between them for as long as Joona could remember, and they had both read it countless times, even though they were both much too old for children’s stories.

This was no mere book of fanciful tales, though. Joona made her way over – carefully stepping around So-min’s bed – and laid her hand on the familiar cover, the title just visible between her fingers; _Tales of King Hiryuu and the Four Dragon Warriors_. It had been in their family for generations, as much an inheritance as the strong seam of dragon’s blood they carried. Joona didn’t know how old it was, but she had always thought it must have been made for some past Ryokuryuu, back when the dragons were like lords and ladies, both ruling their clan themselves and using their power to defend it from the dangers of a more violent, crueler time. Its cover and binding was beautifully made, stitched meticulously with a seal of intertwined dragons on faded green. Inside it was illustrated beautifully in flowing ink, the dragons seeming to dance across the paper even though the pigments had faded and the pages were worn at the edges.

On impulse, Joona picked the book up, wrapped it in her leather pouch, and slipped it into her pack. A silly thing to do really; but, she thought, surely it was justified. If she really did find her father, then after nine years he might very well not recognise her; she had just been a little girl back then, after all.

Besides, carrying the book with her felt like a promise, almost. “I promise, So-min” whispered Joona, reaching out to smooth back the curl of grass-green hair that had fallen over his face, then changing her mind at the last minute, drawing her hand back lest she wake him. “I promise I will bring our book back to you.”

And then she turned, picked up bow and spear, pack and quiver, and darted out of the door.


	3. Better weather

Joona had expected the first days to be the hardest, but they were not, she soon came to realise. It had been summer when she left, turning towards autumn, but the weather was still mild; it was her first winter that was the hardest. The cold days and the long, dark nights of wind and snow made her long for home, for her mother’s warm, enfolding hugs, the hearth and the smell of glue from the workshop, practicing spear technique with Jae-gyu as the wind caught their hair. Laughing with So-min, or chasing each other around the village. 

He had always won; of course he had, with his god-given power. But Joona had never minded, for then she had been a child; they had both been children, and they had a home to go back to when the day was done. She so desperately missed that feeling, of having home.

To get through that first winter, found that she had to learn to put the thought of her old home away, folding it small and tucking it into a secret place in her heart.

Yet even so, when she set snares in the forest, when she hunted and fished and foraged for herbs, mushrooms and berries that were edible and could be traded with peddlers and merchants she met on the road, the memories of when she had learned these things were painfully clear. Memories of when she and So-min had gone exploring together in the lands surrounding the village, Joona yelling happily for So-min to slow down when he ran on too far ahead. Earlier memories, when they had just been children and Jae-gyu or her father would accompany them, teaching them both everything they needed to know; no difference was made between her and So-min just because he had the dragon’s power and she did not. 

She had liked that, and now, whenever she lit a fire using dry flints or made a shelter out of bent and woven branches, she felt a pang of pain, remembering those joyful times. Sometimes her mother would come with them too, and though she could not walk well, Geon would carry her on his back and fly high into the sky, making her laugh with pure joy that always made Joona feel warm and light inside too. Even Jae-gyu smiled, when In-na laughed.

Not that she was never tempted to return; there were many times when she almost gave up, and even a few when she started a little of the way back to the village before coming to her senses.

For she knew, in her heart, that now there was no going back. Not until she had found out the truth one way or another;to return no wiser than when she began would be intolerable. For however sweet those memories might be, even if her mother and aunt did forgive her for leaving – even try to offer some explanation for what she had heard – there would always be doubts in Joona’s mind now. Part of her would always believe that the things she had held as true were lies.

She would only come to trust her family, she knew, if she found out for herself, once and for all.

And so she carried on, though she had precious little to go on, one way or the other. But soon the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, and though she spent her first winter in utter, frozen misery, she survived it, and spring – a whole new year – was easier.

She missed them all, she soon came to realise. However much she mistrusted and resented them, she missed her mother, and she missed Jae-gyu. Most of all she missed So-min. Sometimes the sight of the book of stories cheered her, and sometimes it made it worse, but she always kept it close.

After all, she had a promise to keep.

Joona was good with a spear, and she soon realised she could make a little extra money by acting as a bodyguard to travelling parties of merchants, or when she was not doing that, she could sell what she found in the forest. Both were good ways to earn a living, but even better ways to gather news.  Over the next two years, she travelled all over Kouka, from the mountains of the Fire Tribe and almost to the border of Sen Province of the Kai empire, to the Earth Tribe port of Awa. She even went to Kuuto, in sight of the brilliant red roofs of Hiryuu castle. As she looked up at the sunlight glancing off the shining crimson tiles, she tried to imagine So-min standing high up on the walls with the wind in his hair, as the very first of his predecessors had presumably once done. After all, it was said that the king would come again for his dragons one day, but as a child, Joona had always secretly hoped he would never would, because then So-min would have to go, would leave her behind.

But in the end, she thought, she was the one who had left, who had seen Hiryuu castle as it was.

She turned quickly away.

Joona didn’t spend much time in cities; she had never been to one before, but she quickly realised she disliked them. Her distinctive hair – willow grey-green with a darker green streak through it, a mass of tumbling curls that she pulled back, high on her head – made her stick out enough, not to mention her country manners and lack of knowledge of the ways of city people.

Still, in every place she stopped, she talked to people, seeking any information she could find. She was always cautious; when she met people, she would speak to them about other, innocuous subjects first, before deciding whether to trust them with casual questions about whether they had seen a man with green hair, any whisper or trace of her father. Her ears were also always attuned to any talk of gods, of ghosts and spirits – for that explanation had certainly crossed her mind – or strange powers.

After a year or so had passed, she had even thought she had found what she sought. An old man had been ranting in a village inn, his voice slurred with drink – not in itself an uncommon occurrence, but it was the mention of green hair that had caught her attention.

And so after the man stumbled out onto the street, Joona had pulled her hood up closer about her face, finished off her drink, and slipped out after him. She had cornered him in the alleyway, keeping her dagger unsheathed under her cloak, but the man seemed harmless enough, not to mention happy to have an audience as he expounded on the wonder he had seen; a brilliant young archer with curling hair as green as grass, who could leap as high as the dragon warrior from the legend - _imagine that!_ According to the old drunkard, this beautiful youth had saved their village from a gang of thieves, falling from the sky in a volley of arrows, sending the villains running scared.

Joona had to smile. It was nice, to hear that So-min was still doing what he did best. _And trust_ _So-min_ , she thought, _to have taken to wandering, and to use his power to protect the weak and the innocent_. So-min had always been gentle-hearted, however much he would have protested that accusation. And though it wasn’t what she sought, the story had cheered her up for days after.

But equally, it made fear kindle once more within her; as long as So-min was out there in the world – and especially if he was drawing attention to himself and his power – might he not be in danger, as Jae-gyu had said? Joona had no idea, nor could she begin to guess what sort of danger might make a woman like her fearless aunt sound so haunted, but she was sure it was something worse than common robbers and highwaymen.

She needed to hurry, Joona knew. She slipped her hand inside her pack, touching the leather wrapped around the book, as she so often did. A large part of the reason she was on this journey at all was because of him. And when the thought of her father being alive – somehow, somewhere – seemed like a fool’s hope, she would think of that other fool’s hope – that So-min might be saved, might live beyond his years – and she would have the strength she needed to carry on.

 _Please, So-min,_ she thought. _Please be careful, so you can be there when I get back_. 

* * *

**_(Present)_ **

 

“And then I dreamed we flew together, So-min! I was flying so high, higher than I could ever go before, just like you! Will I be able to fly that high when I’m grown up like you? My dream will be true one day, won’t it?”

“I suppose it will” said So-min shortly, setting down his chopsticks; suddenly he didn’t feel so hungry.

“Eat your breakfast little one.” In-na bustled past them, leaning down to ruffle Ara’s hair, then So-min’s, before he could duck out the way. “So-min, you too.” She tapped the end of her cane sharply on the ground. “You’re going to need the strength for heavy lifting, as I’m afraid Jae-gyu can’t help you with the house. You can take whatever food and firewood you need to start you off, but today we must clear out the workshop. It’s been far too long, and my new apprentice should be coming tomorrow, and then I’ll have to get him working early after the Elder’s niece took a fancy to hunting…. but unfortunately not an aptitude for it. She needs her bow restrung and a quiverful of arrows to replace the ones she lost when she fell in the canal, would you believe? It’s a terrible rush and a bother. So-min, don’t take this the wrong way dear, but you’ve caught us at a rather unfortunate time… oh! A knock at the door? Whoever could that be now?”

So-min had let his attention drift while In-na chatted - she was always happy enough to simply talk, with minimal replying expected on his part, an arrangement which had always suited him well - but at the knock on the door he was drawn back to the present moment. “I’ll get it” said So-min, extricating himself from Ara’s half hug - she had already spilled a little of her breakfast on his lap, he noticed, with resignation - and went to the door.

When he opened it, at first he saw no one at all, frowning as he looked from side to side, and even upwards, to no avail.

“Uhhh…. e-excuse me Mister….?”

It was only then that So-min, following the source of the voice, looked down at last. When he did, he saw a very small boy with tufty brown hair tinged with green and wide eyes, staring up at So-min in undisguised awe. The child was probably a few years older than Ara, he though, but seemed very much younger.

“Yes? What is it, kid?”

The boy blushed furiously, muttered something unintelligible, then stared down at his feet.

Or perhaps at So-min’s feet. He sighed, as the boy stared fixedly at his mostly-slipper-clad dragon’s foot in wide-eyed shock and reverence.

“What do you want, boy?”

The boy seemed to remember where he was and what he was doing at that point, for his head snapped upwards, meeting So-min’s eye before he bowed low. “My name is Jumong!” he blurted out, after he had straightened up again. “I’m to be Mistress In-na’s new apprentice, most esteemed Lord Ryokuryuu! Sir!”

So-min had to stifle a laugh; the boy had the manner of a tiny soldier. “Lord Ryokuryuu, sir” he muttered, shaking his head. “No one’s called me that in a while.”

Jumong tilted his head slightly, looking wary. “I’m…. sorry sir, I didn’t mean to offend… I just didn’t realise you…. I mean…. I knew that Mistress In-na was…. that you used to be…”

“Don’t worry” said So-min awkwardly; the boy was groping for words, looking more like a rabbit in the face of a hunter with each stammering sentence. It stood to reason anyway that a child as young as Jumong shouldn’t have seen a dragon warrior before. How old could this boy be? Eight? Nine? So-min had hardly been here for most of that time; how the years had slipped by as he wondered far from home. He had left soon after Joona had disappeared – initially, he and Jae-gyu had looked for her together, until after months of fruitless searching they had been forced to acknowledge she was either dead, or did not want to be found.

After that, So-min had felt strange coming home; it was suddenly as though it was a stranger’s home, and every time he set foot there he was forced to acknowledge that there must be some good reason Joona had left, something that she hadn’t even told to him, though he had thought they were close as siblings. And with In-na and Jae-gyu grieving, he had not known how to be, how to act. It had been so much easier to leave  - using the excuse of his blood calling for freedom, even doing his duty of protecting the village sometimes - to wander far away where no one knew his face and he wasn’t forced to confront the fact that he hadn’t really known the person closest to him very well at all.

And then, somehow, nine years had passed. He shouldn’t really be surprised that there were children here who didn’t recognise him. He sighed. “I’m not staying long, anyway.”

“Oh…..” said Jumong, peering up at So-min from under his lashes. “That’s too bad! Um… I mean… I’d never seen a dragon before and….” he twisted his hands in front of him. “Is it true you can fly?” he blurted.

So-min smiled, despite himself. “It’s not really flying” he felt compelled to say. “I can just jump high into the air. But…. in a manner of speaking… yes.”

The boy’s eyes shone. “Wow!”

So-min was just about to say more when the clack of In-na’s cane on the floor behind him brought him back to the current situation.

“It’s your new apprentice” said So-min, turning to her.

In-na gasped. “Oh, mercy, but I thought you wouldn’t be here for another two days child” said In-na, tapping her cane nervously. “Well, well, not to worry, come in and we’ll make room for you, I daresay….”

“I… I can go away again for a while, if you want, M-Mistress” mumbled Jumong, bowing several times even as he stepped gingerly past So-min and into the house. “It’s just…. my parents….” he looked down at his feet again, lifting his little shoulder bag sadly, “they…. had to go away. I don’t know when they’re coming back….”

That had done it; So-min knew that In-na would never be able to resist such a plea for care from a child with no one. Sure enough, she smiled softly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Now, of course you can stay” she said. She smiled, briskly. “All it means is that it’ll be a little busier around here. So-min, dear, that’s why you ought to take Ara and get started making your new house more like a home again, hmm?”

So-min grimaced, casting around for Ara, who was curled up by the fire, chattering happily to Jae-gyu who had just arrived back from feeding the chickens, and was now drinking tea and apparently listening intently to every word the little girl said.

He sighed, inwardly, wondering just _how_ one was supposed to care for a child. Years of experience were a good teacher, he supposed, but then, he didn’t _have_ years ahead of him to gain them. He supposed he would just have to improvise. “Yes. Yes, I guess it’s about time we did.”     

 

“So-min, if we can’t get in, can I kick the door down?”

“No.”

“ _Pleeeease?_ ”

“Nope.”

“Okay. ….will _you_ kick the door down, then?”

“ _No_ ,” said So-min, gritting his teeth as he fumbled with the heavy, rusty keys. He sighed. “No one’s kicking the door down. It’ll break the hinges, and we’ll just have to fix it then. You don’t need to use your power for everything, you know.”

“…Oh.”

“I’ll get the lock open. Give me a moment” said So-min, frowning as the key scraped in the heavy, half-rusted padlock. “It’s just a bit - _agh_! There.”

The door came open all at once, accompanied by a rattle of the padlock and the scream of unused hinges. Inside was dark, and a cold, musty smell rolled out over them, but with it came a wave of rather disorientating familiarity; this was the house So-min had spent his early years in, before Geon had died, and though his recollection of it was rather vague, even before he had stepped through the door he knew there would be memories there; memories embedded in every surface, in the very walls.

He took a deep breath stepped deliberately across the threshold, Ara following close at his heels.

The house of the Ryokuryuu, was, in a technical sense, the grandest dwelling in the village. It had two upper floors, and a storeroom below the level of the main wooden decking. There was also a little loft room in the pitch of the roof; he and Joona had slept there as small children. Ara could have that room, he decided; she would probably like it.

The house also had a tiled roof where most of the others only had thatch, enamelled in soft turquoise-green. Above the door was a carved dragon, twining its way across the dark, heavy wooden lintel. It could even have been a beautiful house, he supposed, if any of its past owners had been much disposed towards taking care of it.

He didn’t think many of his predecessors had, though, as he stood in the doorway with Ara and watched the dust they had stirred dance in the sunbeams slicing down from the shuttered windows. Most of the dragons for generations had spent more of their time away from the village than in it. Defending the village in times of war or peril was technically part of their duty to their people, but there had been no major attack on the village in longer than anyone could remember. Certainly So-min himself had never had to drive back anything more than a few petty thieves and highway robbers, and the couple of kids who tried to raid the village’s storehouses every harvest. The lives of the dragons in the village were, in general, dull. And so he didn’t blame his predecessors for preferring to travel and make use of the right to their freedom that was enshrined in commonly held village wisdom as close to sacrosanct.

Ara sneezed in the dust behind him, bringing him back to the present.

“This is it?” she asked, tugging on So-min’s hand. She sounded as though she could hardly believe her eyes. “We live here now? This is _our_ house?”    

So-min remembered then that Ara had never had a true home of her own. He crossed the room, opening a shutter to let light fall on the bare floor, the empty fireplace and dusty corners. “Well” he said, pulling back the sheet that covered the low table by the hearth, in another explosion of dust. “I suppose it is.”   

 

So-min stretched, working the muscles in his back. It was midafternoon, but he already felt he had done a full day’s work, sweeping years of dust off the floors, cleaning the table, scrubbing the basins and filling them with water from the well. He had also checked the roof - several of the tiles were loose, and he reminded himself that he must go to Jeong the potter for some new ones, ideally as soon as possible before the next rain or snow, being as they were not a commonplace item. 

He had cleared away a good deal of mildew from the walls, and replaced the paper screens that had become irreparably tattered and moth-eaten over the years the house had stood empty. He had also taken a look in the cellar built down below the village’s decking and almost to the slope of the muddy ground below, noting that there was an impressive collection of liquors down there; mostly sake and plum wine of different ages and qualities, as well as a large number of rather dubious looking bottles of something dark and strongly herbal-smelling he couldn’t identify. He supposed it had all belonged to various predecessors of his, and smiled wryly; apparently drinking one’s woes away was just one more thing that ran in the family. 

He should inventory it, he knew. That was just one more thing he had to do; he had not quite realised how much physical work it would be, moving into this place with Ara.

That reminded him; where _was_ Ara? She had been getting in the way, so he sent her out to the walkway outside earlier, to play with Elder Bo-seon’s grandchildren and their chickens on the boards. But when he looked out, she wasn’t there anymore. He gave a resigned sigh, realising that this surely wouldn’t be the last time he would have to chase her down.

He found her on the roof of the house, feeding some pigeons that were nesting there with the crumbs of a bun that In-na had given her that morning. He sighed, leaning against the post of the house’s porch and craning back as she waved to him, the birds taking wing in a flurry behind her. “So-min!” she said. “Come up here, you can see for miles!”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t be up there, kid” he said.

Ara pouted, sitting down at the eave and kicking her legs in the air. “Why?”

“You’ll break the roof.”

“’s not broken yet!”

So-min had to concede that point. “You’ll fall.”

She giggled, kicking her legs so that her scales caught the sunlight. “On my feet!” She waved down at him. “Come up here! It’s nicer than down there.”

So-min raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think…”

“Please?” she peered down at him with the most cajoling expression he had ever seen. “It would be even nicer with you here to look out at things too!” She frowned. “I thought you liked heights?”

He _did_ like heights; he loved flying and the sky, and the wide lands around the village, spreading out before his feet. But his power was failing, he didn’t need yet another reminder… the less he jumped the better.  

Still, Ara was staring down at him from the roof, and it was an bright, bracing early spring day of the kind he liked most, and the wind up there was picking up….

He jumped up beside her. “I’m just checking for loose tiles” he grumbled, trying to ignore how delighted she sounded when she laughed.

 

So-min hauled up the last bucket of water from the well built down into the ground below the main boardwalk, the damp cold almost a physical thing as he hefted the griddled iron cover back into place. He had always been both afraid of and fascinated by this place as a child, when he and Joona had dared each other to peer down it, dropping little stones and counting how long it took them to reach the bottom.

There were rumours about the place too; it was supposed to be haunted, by the ghost of some long-past Ryokuryuu, supposedly shut up down there and left to die. It was said that she had threatened her successor, putting her power to the worst possible use. Then, it was said, the villagers had turned on her, shutting her in and leaving her there. When she had tried to jump to the top, she had had nothing to cling on to, and had only fallen back to the bottom to start all over again, over and over until she lost her power and died. When the wind blew, you could hear her screams, crying out for the sky she had lost, it was said.

So-min didn’t set much store by such tales, anymore; he knew full well that the sound of wailing was merely the wind in the many slatted boards and supports on which the village stood, or whistling through the iron grille of the well cover.

He had no time for ghost stories, as a rule. There _were_ real life incidents in the distant past, he knew, when the dragon warriors had been shut in and left to die. Back in the cruel, barbaric years, he had heard, there had been constant fighting between rival families, and whichever faction had the Ryokuryuu on their side had a strong weapon against the others. And so the dragons had been traded and chained, tricked and bribed, compelled and kidnapped in every cruel way imaginable, both valued and feared beyond all.

That was all in the past though. So-min had never cared much for history; his own life was grim enough. He was glad, at least, that at some point the warring clans had settled together into - largely – one village, and decided that protecting the dragon warriors from outsiders, growing their rice and living quietly was better than killing each other, a fact for which So-min was at least heartily grateful.

He stood up, lifting a bucket in each hand, walked up the little wooden gangway to the main boardwalk that served as the closest thing the village had to a square.  

The days were still cold, and yet the market bustled with life. Possibly more so than usual, So-min suspected; after all, two dragons at once had become a rare sight these last years.

“So-min!” his musings were interrupted by Ara’s shrill voice; she ran ahead of him, a group of children tossing her a ball which she threw back in delight, spinning around on the boards. “Look at me!”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t fall through the planks” he said with a resigned sigh. If Ara had made friends so fast then he should let her, he knew; this was her home now, and would be for years to come, at least until she was old enough to travel alone if she chose to. Contemplating Ara’s future was strange to him, for it was a future in which he himself had no part, would surely be burned on his funeral pyre, just a little box of ashes and a carven name in the village’s shrine.

Would Ara mourn him? Would she think of him, in years to come? Would she look back at his life when _she_ was dying, some twenty years from now?

She was so young; would she remember him at all?

He shook his head to ground himself in the present and rid himself of these grim imaginings. If he kept thinking about death he might as well be dead already.

 _Nevertheless, there it always was, following close at his heels_ …

“Ah, so you’ve returned, have you?”

So-min turned to the voice that had addressed him, having been staring into space. Immediately he made a cursory attempt to pretend to be inspecting a stack of daikon at the market stall, as his heart sank. “Elder Bo-seon.”

“Ryokuryuu.” The Elder bowed, shortly. “I notice you’ve moved back into the house of your ancestors. Will you be staying long this time?”

So-min squinted; there was a veiled question behind the words, he was sure of it. The title of Elder, after all, was merely a ceremonial honour given to the oldest person in the village these days. It did not, as it had in the past, entail head of the village, a role which was given to the Ryokuryuu or their closest relative in the line of the dragon’s blood. This would be Jae-gyu, but the idea of Jae-gyu leading the village was laughable; it was the sort of task she hated most of all, and besides, as In-na’s joints got stiffer in the winters, Jae-gyu was more and more given to helping her in the house and going to the market for supplies, or occasionally giving children spear-fighting and archery lessons to make a little extra money to help support In-na’s business.

But by choice, Jae-gyu was no leader; In fact, she had had such an aversion to the idea that she had simply _given_ the job to Bo-seon some years ago, in her own words, _saving many years of querulous badgering_.      

But now So-min had returned, then perhaps it really was the case that Bo-seon felt less safe in his office, should So-min ever stake his own claim as head of the village.  

Not that he ever wanted to do any such thing either. For all So-min had to grudgingly admit that he missed some aspects of life in the village, thinking of the actual task of being its head filled him with weariness.

“No, I likely won’t be staying long” said So-min, smiling tightly, tapping his foot on the ground. “After all, I don’t have much time left, so why would I spend it in this place, hmm?” He shot the elder a disarming grin. “Why, you never know, you might well outlive me!”

The Elder flushed a little, under his beard. “Gods forbid, I didn’t mean to suggest something so… ah…. superficial as wondering when you’d…. ah…..”

“Now now. _Would_ I suggest something like that of you, Elder?” asked So-min, pressing a hand to his heart. He thought he might as well have a little fun with this fussy old man. “It’s obvious that really you just missed me that much.”

The Elder frowned at him, looking flustered. “Now, now, I fear you’re being disingenuous.”

He mimed shock. “Me? Never!”

“Hmph” grumbled Bo-seon. “Yes. Well. Mind you watch out for your successor….” they both watched Ara do a flip, using the support pole of a nearby house as a springboard. Bo-seon winced as she landed on the decking, coming perilously close to upsetting the egg stall, scaring a trio of chickens, and sending a wooden rooftile clattering down to the ground in the process. All the children cheered, as Bo-seon harrumphed again. “She’s already proving to be a menace to this place’s infrastructure.

So-min laughed. “Elder, I think that kid would take that as quite the compliment.”

 

“So-min!”

His head snapped up to the source of the voice calling his name, and realised it was Jae-gyu, nodding stiffly to Bo-seon as she came towards them. “Elder.”

He bowed back, with narrowed eyes. “Lady Jae-gyu” he said rather curtly; it was no secret in the village that those two had never gotten on well.  

Once Bo-seon had scurried off, she gave So-min a rather stern look that would have been a smile on anyone else, voice sharp, commanding. “You’ll come to dinner with us tonight?”

He blinked; from her tone along, he had been expecting some sort of reprimand, but one never could tell with Jae-gyu. “Um. Yes. I suppose so…”

She looked down at him critically, but there was the ghost of an amused twinkle in her eye. “In-na misses you and the little one already.”

“We’re just in the centre of the village” said So-min. He grinned. “And you? Do _you_ miss us terribly?”

“Couldn’t possibly say” said Jae-gyu, deadpan. But he knew that as she turned away with a “ _be there at sundown_ ” she was hiding a small, pleased smile, leaving him - quite to his surprise - with a smile on his face too. 

Perhaps home – such as it was – would not be such a bad place to spend his last months after all.


	4. What we fight for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: some violence and descriptions of medical procedures but not that graphic.

So-min was pacing back and forth across the breadth of the clearing while Ara listened with rapt attention.

“Now, lesson one. There are several ways one can fight with this power we have” he said. “The first is clear enough…. if someone attacks you, you can kick them. Obviously. You can also jump high into the sky to get away. But it is also a useful power in a fight for other reasons, and throughout history, our ancestors have used it to great effect, usually combined with a weapon.”

“Just like the first Ryokuryuu from the legend! He had a spear, and that’s why everyone in the village has spears now too….right?”

“Yes, well” said So-min, narrowing his eyes. “Spears are traditional, but I’ve always thought they make very little sense with our power.” He turned to face Ara. “Range weapons are much better. Arrows, if you can shoot them, or a slingshot if you can’t.” He picked up a pebble from the ground. “Even these would do a lot of damage, if thrown from above. The height advantage allows you a greater range, and if you’re quick you can get several hits before you even touch the ground. Even with a well-thrown spear you can’t do that, and besides, if you lose your spear on the ground then you’re finished” he said. “That’s why I’ve always thought that it was a useless tradition, this spearfighting. What I’m about to teach you is much better.”

“…..Mama had a spear….” said Ara, looking doubtful, her face beginning to crumple.

So-min sighed, backtracking quickly. “Ah…! What I meant to say was that the spear can be a very effective weapon. Just look at Jae-gyu! Ask her to show you her spear technique when we return….it’s amazing! But for _our power_ then I’ve always found arrows to be better. Do you see?”

She nodded, immediately smiling once again. “Please show me how!”

 

“Alright, stand back, kid.” So-min checked his bracers and made sure his quiver was securely attached to his back by its double belt. He checked the tension of his bowstring and caught himself smiling in satisfaction; perfect.  
He took a deep breath as Ara clapped her hands from a nearby tree branch in excited anticipation. He found himself hoping that she would not be disappointed; she had been bothering him about showing her his archery more and more since they had moved into the house, and though he had tried to assure her that he was nothing special, he suspected In-na of speaking his praises behind his back. 

Nevertheless he had eventually given in to Ara’s pleading. So here they were in the woods beyond the rice fields, in a long, narrow clearing where he had pinned targets to five trees, at several different heights.

Even as he stared down the corridor in the trees, memories assaulted him once more; this was exactly the place where he and Joona had learned to fight, had practiced together in the later years. 

He shook his head. No sense dwelling on the past now. Instead he took up his bow and looked at the targets, making sure he knew where they were; _one, two, three, four, five_.

With a whistle and a hand signal to tell Ara he was about to begin, he took a running jump, feeling the familiar strength of his dragon’s leg propelling him, though he made sure to check his height to only the level of the tree tops.   
The thing people didn’t understand about this power, So-min had often though, was that it wasn’t really _flying_ ; not in the way of birds, not in the way people thought. Once he was set on a course through the sky, barring wind and collisions, his path through the air was set, a predictable arc that he had long since come to understand with muscle memory, just as he understood how to walk along the flat ground yet could not quite explain how.

The thing about shooting from the air was that it was just the intersection of several different arcs of flight. All he could do to change them was to arc his body in the air. All the skill was in how he shifted his weight and balance on the take off and landing, or in flight.

And this he did; as soon as his foot had left the ground, So-min was arcing his body, hand going to his quiver and nocking the arrow in one motion, with a more fluid grace than he could ever have managed on the ground.

A moment later he was drawing his arm back - he was upside down, but his eyes were locked on the target - and releasing, the motion shuddering through his arm even as he reached the height of his arc of flight and leaned backwards, rolling in the air on the downwards fall. 

He landed on his feet on the damp forest floor and for a moment was aware of the arrow’s pale grey fletching juddering right in the centre of the target. But he did not spend time looking; he was already springing into the air again, his forward momentum carrying him past the next target. And then the next, his arrows singing through the air as his vision was a swirl of green leaves, his mind more at peace than it had been in - well, he couldn’t quite remember how long.

He hit the third target, the fourth, and by the time he was starting his fifth jump, he was smiling. He could dimly hear Ara squealing with amazed joy from the other end of the clearing. _Well, if she was impressed now_ ….

He pulled two arrows from his quiver at once on the final jump, strung both, drew and…. _yes!_ He smiled wider as before he started to fall he caught a glimpse of both arrows at once hitting the centre of the fifth target, clacking together with the impact.

He was still smiling as his feet came towards the ground. _Closer, closer; now_ _for_ _a perfect landing_ ….

He let out a gasp as he stumbled on his dragon’s foot, misjudging his speed and strength at the very last moment.

His face burned with the jolt of instinctive fear as he nearly fell face down into the ground. But he merely stumbled to his knees, wobbling back to balance on his dragon’s foot in just another moment.

Sound roared in his ears; if he had fallen badly, he might very well have broken his human leg, and then where would he be? He looked up gingerly; Ara would be disappointed, he knew. Now she would see him for what he was, weak and losing his power. Not someone to look up to, as she inexplicably seemed to.

And why did that seem to bother him so much, all of a sudden?

But a moment later, Ara was screeching in joy, hurling herself from her tree branch with enough force to make the whole sapling shake.

She jumped at So-min, and this time - through experience - he was braced for it, let her hug him with a slightly resigned blush.

“So-min, that was amazing!” she squealed. “You’re so amazing! I mean…. your Mama said you were, but I never knew you could do that!”

“Well” said So-min, extricating himself from her grip and rubbing the back on his neck. He was still on his knees, the ground torn up in a greater dark scar of earth where he had skidded on his dragon’s foot. “I messed up the landing at the end.”

“Who cares!” shouted Ara as he got to his feet, staring up at the five targets in rapturous amazement. “You hit all the things perfectly! It was amazing!”

He looked around; he had indeed hit all the targets, and though the knowledge that he had failed - where once he would have had no trouble at all - still bothered him, he could not resist a small smile. “Yeah” he said, fiddling with the buckle of his quiver, giving Ara’s hair a quick ruffle. “I guess I did.”

“Will you teach me how to do that?” Ara stared up at him with large, imploring eyes. “Pleeeease? You promised you would!”

He sighed. “I did, didn’t I” he muttered. “Okay. But first, tell me something, kid…. have you ever used a bow before?”

Ara hung her head. “……No. Mama’s bow was always too big for me, and she told me not to touch it.”

As well she might, So-min thought. A child Ara’s age was too young, really, to be learning to fight. But surely he could borrow a practice bow from In-na that might not be too far off her size, for after all, So-min had promised to teach her, and he didn’t have much time left…. “That’s okay” he reassured her, watching her eyes light up with joy once more. “It means we just have a bit more learning to do.”

 _She wasn’t the only one_ , he thought to himself.

 

“All right. Before you can learn archery like that which I just showed you, you need to learn two things…” he held up one finger. “You need to learn to shoot” he quelled her excited gasp, with a raised hand, “but you also need to learn to aim from the air. You need to understand the space around you; the way your body moves through the air and the way the arrow will fly. This is what we will practice today, then I’ll teach you archery, then I’ll teach you to combine them. Does that sound good?”

Ara nodded eagerly.

“Good” said So-min. He leaned down, picked up an acorn from the ground. He turned it over in his hand, tossed it up a little and caught it again. Then he threw it at the nearest target; it hit perfectly in the centre. “Easy enough from the ground” he said, fetching the acorn back and passing it to Ara. “You try.”

Once So-min had amassed a small pile of acorns at his feet, she began. It took her a few tries to hit the target at all. But once she had hit close to the centre, she smiled up at So-min. “Can I try it from the air now?”

He looked down at her, and couldn’t help but smile. “…..I suppose so.”

 

Ara hit the target three more times that day. Once it hit the very edge with a glancing impact. Another knocked the target off the tree entirely, so that So-min had to hunt for it in the undergrowth amongst the trees.

The third time, as Ara jumped and threw her acorn, So-min didn’t even see it coming straight towards his head until it was alarmingly close, and then he was barely able to draw his dagger and use it to shield his face. The acorn richoted off the flat of the blade, and – to both their surprise – hit the target dead in the centre.

“Yay!” shrieked Ara, landing at So-min’s feet with a huge, proud smile. She gazed up at him, hands bunched into fists at her sides. “That counts, right?”

“You’re really pushing your luck kid” said So-min, but even as he said the words, he felt a proud smile come to his face despite himself. “If it were a real fight - ”

“Then I would have hit the bad guys!” said Ara, with a gap-toothed grin.

So-min rolled his eyes, ruffled her hair. “Yes, well, I guess you would. I mean, if it was a real fight you wouldn’t be throwing acorns, and I might not be there to help you, but….” he grabbed her by the sleeve to keep her from jumping too high in the air with excitement. “Oh, alright, fine. You did well, kid.”

She yelled out in triumph, punching the air. “Yes! Next time, can I try with a bow and arrows? Please?”

“Slow down! First you need to learn how to use a bow.”

“Yes, but after I’ve learnt that, you’ll teach me, right?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” he smiled. “Don’t think I’m going to break that promise!”

 

It was late afternoon turning towards evening by the time they started back the village. As the light was fading fast – and Ara had apparently worn herself out with the day’s practice, as she was half stumbling on her feet - So-min decided he would jump the distance, rather than walk.

And so he picked up Ara in his arms and leapt into the sky; some part of him was even grateful for the quickly gathering blue shade of evening, as it almost let him forget that the height of his jumps was not what it once had been.

Ara seemed to wake a little at the feeling of the wind in her hair, but she was still quieter than usual.

“So-min?” she asked, a little way into the journey.

“Yes?” He tilted his head. He couldn’t see her face for the wind ruffling her hair, but somehow, something in her voice sounded a little off.

“You said I did well at that today…” Ara said, muffled by her scarf. “But I didn’t hit many of the targets.”

“Don’t be silly” he said. “You didn’t hit many targets because it’s your first try. We can practice. You’ll get better….there’s time, kid.” _For her there was, at least._

“But what if don’t?” she said. “I want to get better so that I can be like Mama, and like you! So that I can protect people! But what if I can’t do that?”

“You will” he said, rather abruptly, with a pang of pain in his chest. _She shouldn’t have to_ , he thought. _She shouldn’t have to fight for her whole life. Six years old and she already feels responsible for others._

Well, perhaps they shared more than just their dragon’s blood.

He was about to say more, when Ara suddenly gave a loud cry of alarm, pointing at something down on the ground.

And before So-min could ask a question, Ara was launching herself sideways into the open air, giving So-min a rather painful kick in the side in the process, knocking him the other way with the change in momentum. As a result he fell sideways, crashing through the canopy, extricating himself from various branches he hit on the way down with a loud string of curses and dropping into a shaky landing at the base of the tree.

He cast around for Ara, spotting her on the other side of the road, leaning over to peer down at something in the ditch on the far side.

He ran over to her side. “Girl, I don’t know what you’re playing at with - ”

“So-min!” said Ara, pointing down. “There’s a lady passed out by the side of the road!”

He caught his breath. She was right; a young woman was lying there in the little muddy depression, her lip split and bloody. He pulled back her cloak to find the empty sheath from a dagger. She was dressed like a wayfarer, but she had no pack or weapons.

“Do you think someone stole her things?” Ara asked nervously. “Mama always said there were bad people on the roads who did things like that.”

“Maybe…” said So-min, thinking. Bandits _were_ the most likely explanation. This far away from the nearest authorities – a little string of Wind Tribe hillforts that crossed the mountains on the horizon - there were no patrols, and so the countryside was largely lawless, a dangerous place to travel for those who couldn’t defend themselves. Travelling merchants hired bodyguards here if they had any sense, or avoided the area altogether; it wasn’t as if there were many villages to sell to. But even so, in the past So-min had often fought off gangs of thieves that threatened the hapless. Not that it was his duty to do so; it was a thankless task, for they were often as frightened of him as they were of the bandits, calling him a monster and driving him away.

But then, he had never been very good at keeping to himself when innocent people were at risk.

Still, though; he frowned as he looked down at the woman lying in the ditch. This reminded him of something, a rumour he’d heard once…. what had it been?

He watched as Ara leaned forward to touch the injured woman, a small, gentle hand reaching out.

His eyes widened, as realisation came. “Ara, no don’t! It’s a trap - ”

But the rest of his words were lost as, quick as a striking snake, the woman’s hand shot out and grabbed Ara’s wrist, causing the girl to shriek in alarm, even as a glint of steel shone in the half-darkness. In the woman’s other hand, an unsheathed dagger came flashing out, held to Ara’s throat in half a moment.

At the same time there was a rustling in the undergrowth behind them, and dark figures appeared, their faces swathed in dark cloths to blend in to the vegetation. But So-min could see the gleam of weapons, hear swords being drawn.

“Well, hello there my darling” said the woman holding Ara, her voice soft and slightly mocking. “If you’d be so kind as to stay still until we’re done with your father… that’s a good girl. And you sir.” She looked up at So-min, as a man came up behind him, a hand slipping through the curls of his hair as he held still as stone, eyes fixed on the dagger at Ara’s throat. “Empty your pockets. Give us everything you’ve got or I won’t hesitate to kill this sweet child right before you.” She gave an indulgent smile. “And if you comply, I’ll even let her live! She would fetch a good price on the docks of Awa or Sensui.”

He narrowed his eyes. He knew he must not panic or make any sudden movements; if he did, they would both be killed. “What is this world coming to” he said softly, as the man breathed into his ear, beard scratching at So-min’s cheek even as he felt the cold of a dagger at his own throat. “When you trap kind strangers like that, then threaten a child with death or slavery.” He held her gaze, raising his chin a little. Timing was key here, he must not let the man holding him know of his power until the instant he chose to reveal it.

Ara was watching him with wide eyes full of fear, glimmering with tears. He gave her a smile, to try to ease her fear; these were only the common sort of bandits after all. And they had just threatened the wrong person. He gritted his teeth, turning his head to look at the man holding him, as best the dagger allowed. “Your type make me _sick_.”

At the moment he said these words, he drove his dragon’s leg backwards, up between the legs of the man holding him, who immediately collapsed to the ground, howling in pain.

He had enough time to see the woman’s eyes widen as he leaped forward, flinging himself at her and Ara so that the three of them went rolling backwards. At the same time, he grabbed her wrist, bending her arm back and – most importantly – away from Ara’s throat, punching the woman in stomach on his backswing. A moment later she lay stunned and breathless on the ground and So-min grasped the dagger as well as his own. Ara was already on her feet again, standing at his side with shoulders squared as the other figures closed in closer around them. “Ara, jump into the trees and stay there, you understand?” So-min snapped.

She looked up at him with eyes filled with alarm. “B-but….”

“Now!” he hissed. “Go!”

“……Okay!”

She jumped straight up, sailing over the heads of the bandits, who all looked up in sudden awe.

“And don’t bother trying to chase her” growled So-min, throwing the knife he had taken. The man in front of him dodged it with a yelp, and it stuck, shuddering, in the trunk of the tree behind. “After all” he said. “I’m not dead yet.”

With that, he leapt into a flying kick at the man holding a sword beside him. The blade sliced through the leather of his boot but glanced off his scaled ankle, sending the sword clattering against the stones of the dirt road. As the man’s nearest companion attacked, So-min spun, dropping down below the sword cut and aiming a kick at his chest that sent him sprawling, his head knocking against a tree root on the other side of the road so he crumpled insensible to the ground.

The next two were just as easy to incapacitate; the one after fought a little harder, but he managed to kick his way out, flipping over backwards, drawing his bow and an arrow all at once; he did not even need to shoot for her to run away screaming into the woods. After that, the woman who had lain in the ditch to trap Ara seemed to come to her senses, the last man helping her to her feet. But So-min saw it coming; he jumped up, firing an arrow to just clip her elbow, nevertheless making her scream with pain. When the man came running at him with a snarl of rage, So-min kicked him in the head, so he collapsed to his knees.

At last the road was silent. He looked around at the scattered bodies; none of them were moving, but none were dead, he thought; only unconscious. That was good; he supposed he should have no qualms about using his power to kill if the cause was just. But especially lately, when death was close at his heels, he had found himself even more hesitant than he had ever been before to take lives, even to protect his village.

He sighed and began to turn away, looking to the forest again; where was Ara?

“Ara? They’re gone, you can - ”

The shrill cry came from the trees, on the other side of the road. “So-min! Look out!”

He whirled, just in time to see another man – the one who had held him at first? - wobbling to his feet, hair falling over eyes dark with rage, his head low as he charged at So-min, flicking open a knife that glimmered in the light of the moon that was just beginning to glow above the horizon.

It took him by surprise, and for a moment he was frozen with shock. When he tried to swing into a flying kick a moment later though, he misjudged the speed – was he just tired, or was there even less power in his dragon leg? - and the man ducked to avoid it, catching So-min off balance and barrelling into him.

They both fell painfully to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs, and the man was grabbing at his wrists, the knife glinting close to his face.

So-min caught his breath, fear rising up in him; the dagger was too close to his throat. If he could only struggle free…

He twisted the man’s wrist, wrenching the joint to a painful angle that made the man gasp, but at the same time, the little folding blade caught So-min’s left hand, sinking deep into the palm and the ball of his thumb. He gasped in pain, loosening his grip a little by reflex. An instant later, dark blood welled from the cut, making his hand slip, enough to let his attacker tear his arm away.

So-min gritted his teeth, trying to roll away but suddenly pinned under the man, who outmatched him greatly in terms of sheer bulk. This was bad, he knew, for he didn’t have the leverage, wasn’t in a position to use his dragon leg; So-min was slighter than most other men his age, and he had always more than made up for it with his power, _but now_ -

There was a scream, and a brief whistling sound from above before the man collapsed on top of So-min, knocking the breath from his lungs with his dead weight.

So-min coughed, stunned, as he rolled the man off him; there was blood at the back of his head, apparently from a square hit with a small object. “What…”

Ara dropped into a landing at his side, with a grin. She tossed a stone up and down and caught it. “I hit him, So-min!” she said, jubilantly. “Did you see that! My aim was perfect, and I saved you! I protected you!”

He sat up, blinking rather dazedly while cradling his bloody hand. “Yeah” he said, staring at her grinning face. “…….Thanks kid. I guess you did.”

 

So-min winced as In-na washed his wounded hand with a cloth soaked in hot water and vinegar, biting back a hiss of pain as Ara looked up at them both with tears in her eyes, letting out a small cry of distress.

“Hush, child” said In-na gently, wringing out her cloth. “He’ll be all right soon enough. It’s a deep wound but it’s not large. All it needs is a few stitches and So-min will be perfectly fine.” She pursed her lips. “But you don’t need to watch this. Look away, Ara dear….”

Obediently, Ara covered her face with her hands.

“Th-thank you, In-na” gasped So-min, bracing himself as he watched her heat a needle in the candle flame. When the tip began to glow a dull red, she drew it out and waited for it to cool a little. He gritted his teeth together as it touched his skin. “I…. would have…. ah… w-would have done it myself… but it’s my left hand…” he squeezed his eyes closed as In-na stitched. It was true; he had sewn small wounds several times, once even on his own arm, but he was left-handed and the small, wickedly sharp knife blade had slashed the heel of his left hand and sunk deep into the muscle of his thumb.

He bit down on his lip, stifling a curse at the last moment as he felt the needle tug on his flesh several more times, but he did not flinch.

“Of course” said In-na briskly, tying off the stitches with a final sharp tug and snipping off the excess thread. So-min opened his eyes to see her beginning to unspool a roll of cloth bandages, as Ara peeked hesitantly through her fingers.

In-na began to wrap his hand. “I’m just glad it wasn’t any worse” she said, a small frown line appearing on her face.

“It’s fine” said So-min, recognising the genuine worry in her voice. “It was just - ”

But the rest of his words were lost, as the door opened with an abrupt crash, the curtain flying open a moment later to reveal a rather windblown looking Jae-gyu. She covered the distance to the table in two strides, palms coming down on it and making In-na’s equipment jump. There was a wild look of alarm in her eyes, quite at odds with her usual composure.

“So-min!” she barked. “Jumong told me you were wounded!”

“J…Jae-gyu…?” he stammered. “Uh…. I’m fine… which is to say, I got cut, but…it’s nothing that bad!” Something about her state of obvious anxiety rather than her accustomed studied calm made him nervous too. “Ara and I had an… encounter with some bandits. It was my fault, I was being careless…”

“That’s not true!” piped up Ara. “So-min was amazing!”

“Ah…” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. He felt a wave of guilt come over him once more for letting it get to the stage where Ara had had to come to his aid. “I mean…. I could have fought better, as you can see…”

“It was ordinary bandits you fought?” said Jae-gyu abruptly. “You’re sure?”

So-min frowned. “Y-yes? They didn’t seem to be from one of the bands I’ve encountered before, if that’s what you mean…?”

“And no one tried to follow you back…?”

He shook his head. “No one.”

“We knocked them all out!” said Ara, punching the air with her small fists. “Like this! Well…. So-min did… I threw a rock though!”

Jae-gyu pinched the bridge of her nose, dropping her head forward a little. When she opened them again, she was looking at him intently, with concern. “And you’re both otherwise unharmed?”

“Yes” said So-min, as Ara nodded fervently. He frowned; he had not realised that Jae-gyu was so worried about him, but then, she had seen Geon lose his power, so perhaps she understood his weakness better than most. “Jae-gyu” he said, holding her gaze. “I’m fine. Ara is too. There’s no need to worry.”

She opened her mouth to speak again, but In-na stopped her.

“Jae-gyu” In-na said, her voice almost quelling, So-min thought. She held Jae-gyu’s gaze across the table. “ _It’s all right_.” There seemed to be something running between them that So-min couldn’t quite grasp. “They encountered some bandits, it’s common on the roads. And now they’re back safe. So-min will be more careful next time, won’t you dear?” she fixed him with a rather steely look, and he nodded hastily. In-na turned back to Jae-gyu. “See? There’s no reason to be alarmed.”

Jae-gyu took a quick breath, held In-na’s gaze for just a moment longer. She looked as though she were about to speak again but then she apparently changed her mind, as her shoulders drooped, some of the tension leaving her. She looked down at the table, and when she looked up again, it was with some of her usual composure returned. “Good” she said. “Of course.” To his surprise, Jae-gyu leaned across the table and laid her hand on his cheek for a brief, tender moment, a short, intense flicker of relief in her eyes.

But before So-min could say anything else, Jae-gyu frowned, spun around, and pulled aside the door that led up the stairs to reveal In-na’s apprentice, wide-eyed and clearly listening intently to every word.

She sighed, placing a hand on her hip and tapping an impatient foot. “Jumong, if you’re going to eavesdrop, at least learn to do it properly. But since you’re here, then make yourself useful and help me chop the vegetables for dinner while I go to the well. And be quick about it!” she picked up the buckets by the door, turning to So-min and Ara with a genuine smile this time, as In-na finished wrapping So-min’s bandages. “After all, these two have a habit of turning up unannounced, but now we couldn’t possibly let you go without dinner…”

 

After they had eaten - So-min with some difficulty due to his bandaged hand – Jumong had scurried up the stairs to bed and Ara had fallen asleep by the fire, curled up on her side on a pile of furs. She had also somehow managed to get hold of So-min’s cloak, and since none of them had had the heart to wake her, she clutched it as she slept, small hands bunched in the coarse cloth as she dreamed.

 

So-min was beginning to doze himself, as Jae-gyu finished cleaning the pots and returned to sit beside In-na.

He looked up at them sitting there across from him, shoulder to shoulder. He had wanted to ask another question, but suddenly he was struck with the strong realisation that they would both outlive him; there would come a time, very soon, when they would both be alive and he would not be, the child they had raised as their son. Just like Geon, he would soon leave them.

He frowned.

“What’s wrong, So-min?” asked In-na, moving around the table to sit beside him.

He didn’t answer, but looked back at her, meeting her eye. “In-na…. Jae-gyu… d-did Geon…. at the end, what was it like?”he blurted out the words almost without thinking about them. He had never asked them this before; not in so many words, anyway, but now he pushed on, feeling reckless, his fearful heart wrung out by the day’s struggles. “I don’t remember that time very well, but…” he felt his voice crack. “When he was dying, was it…” he swallowed, unable to continue.

There was silence for a moment.

Then, In-na sighed. “It was quick, in the end. But only after a long, slow decline. The amount of power in his dragon leg was… the same, for a long time. He was fine, he was nearly as strong as he had always been.” Her voice was brittle, settling his decision. “Then, one day, he sent you and Joona out to practice alone, and that was when _I_ knew, at least. He must have felt it coming that last day, it all just _left_ him, all…” she took a deep breath, as Jae-gyu touched the back of her hand, very gently. “All at once. But you must remember what that felt like on your side.”

He nodded; he did. He remembered the alien feeling of the light in his head that had been there all his life dimming, the feeling like a surge of power in his leg combined with disorientation and a heavy blow to his heart as that light had finally rushed in on itself and gone out. He had not been with Geon at the time; he had  long wondered if it would have been better or worse if he had. Joona had been at his side, and he had held onto her for support, tears rolling down both their faces.  

In-na broke into his thought by laying her hand over his, on the table; the sudden warmth of her skin and familiar roughness of her work-calloused hands brought him out of the past.

“At any rate” she said, “it’s good that when it happened, he was in the village. It meant…” she swallowed. “It meant the funeral rites went easily… for you.”

So-min nodded, slowly. He remembered that day; he had been a child, but he remembered standing at the temple beyond where the rice fields ended, and smelling the burning incense, the flowers. There were little dishes of sake, and tiny dragon figurines made of knotted rope and strips of leather that were the traditional offering at the tomb of the deceased Ryokuryuu. If they died far from home, he knew, it fell to the next Ryokuryuu to first locate the body, which was brought back to the village for cremation. That was what In-na had meant; she was glad that that task had not fallen to So-min, who had just been a child at the time.

So-min was glad too, all things considered, that he had been spared that particular journey. A Ryokuryuu who failed in this task - and some did, some too young, some simply with the memory of their last flickering sense of their predecessor the only thing they had to go on - was deemed unlucky, and long tradition held that the village would not prosper during their time. Which was why So-min was glad he had not had to attempt the search; while he didn’t set much store by such tales, he was never entirely certain there was no truth to them.

Besides, if he had tried and failed then In-na and Jae-gyu and Joona would have hurt even more than they had already, and it would have been even more completely his fault.

“When I die” said So-min, seized by a sudden conviction, refusing to let his voice falter; he stilled In-na’s interjection before it was born. “When I die, I promise I will be in the village. For your sake… and for Ara’s.” He looked from one of them to the other. In-na looked as though her heart would tear in two; Jae-gyu looked as though carved from brittle stone. “There’s not much I can promise you… but I can promise you that.”

Jae-gyu stared him straight in the eye. “Thank you” she said, very quietly, as In-na leaned sideways in her chair to hug him. “Thank you.”

He nodded, dropped his gaze, inhaling the familiar scent of In-na’s hair, and the smell of wood and leather and glue that clung to her from her workshop.

He hoped, at least, that he would be able to keep that promise.

* * *

 

Joona saw So-min, once; that was the day everything changed.

It was her second winter on the road, and it was snowing hard. She had been fighting highways robbers of the kind that were all too willing to pick on a woman travelling alone, all too eager to underestimate one such as her. She had been winning too, and had killed their leader, but it had been snowing and the hour had been later evening, the light ebbing fast; all too easy for her to slip in the snow, to fall wrong, to drop her spear, her cry of pain eerily deadened by the encroaching white.

It was all too easy for the woman who was second-in-command - Joona had wounded her, catching her beneath the arm with her spear, and she was bleeding freely against her leather jerkin - to stamp viscously on Joona’s grasping hand, making her gasp and choke on her breath as she felt the crunch of breaking bones. She gritted her teeth, trying to roll over while willing away the dizzying wave of pain, wishing only that the cold would numb it; but when she tried, her attacker stabbed down in a viscous blow to her shoulder, stabbing through Joona’s hunting leathers in a blow that would have hit her heart or her throat, had it been a little to one side or the other. Joona gasped, clawing snow from her face, biting her tongue in pain so that her mouth filled with blood.

Now, though, now was her chance to escape… but it was no good; the woman was above her with one foot one Joona’s chest, silhouetted against the blue-grey, snow-swirled evening sky, blurred by the hot tears that had sprung to her eyes and already begun to freeze. Joona couldn’t see her face through her dinted helmet but she could see that short, broad-bladed sword raised high, preparing to strike. She wouldn’t even have time to do anything, she knew; in that moment, time seemed to come to a frozen standstill, even as her uninjured hand scrabbled desperately for the dagger at her belt. But her fingers were numb and clumsy with cold, and the knife was on the wrong side, and besides, she would never make it in time…. she stared up, in that moment, refusing to close her stinging eyes even as she waited for the blow to fall.

But it never did.

Instead, there came a blur of motion, the singing sound of an arrow coming from… _above_? Joona blinked, but had no time for confusion as her attacker screamed, as she was hit square between the shoulder blades, stumbling to her knees.

Immediately, Joona was broken out of her momentary daze, rolling sideways in a flurry of snow, just in time to avoid the woman collapsing on top of her. She was hissed in pain as the motion jarred her broken hand; she was bleeding, she realised in sudden panic, the dark blood staining the snow in patches from her shoulder and her face, which was already beginning to swell.

Yet still, she scrambled up, casting around for her spear; it had rolled into a small snow drift, leaving a little furrow. She snatched it up, whirling about to turn and defend herself once more; if she had ever wanted to die on her journey, then now, when she was actually faced with the possibility, she had never felt more as though she wanted to live, at the very least every fibre of her being screamed at her to sell her life for as many of theirs as she could.    

And the fact that someone had saved her made no difference; out here, she didn’t trust anyone. Maybe they even planned to kill or torture or ransom her themself. Maybe they wanted to lock her away from the world, a torture not to be borne by one with the dragon’s blood, even an exile like her.

She didn’t know or care why they had saved her though; she just wanted to get away from here, and if she was going to do that the wariness she had learned in her year and half of wandering would serve her well.

She turned, hood blown over her face by the wind, and looked.

Just in time to see a man fall from the sky.

Immediately, Joona shrank back, pulling her hood over her head as she watched in disbelief. It was him. _It was him._ She of all people knew how he used his power, his movements as he fought. So-min whirled about, kicking another attacker who had come out of the underbrush so the man flew backwards, flailing and screaming, jumped through the air and fired three arrows at once at another, his hood falling back as he flipped upside down to reveal a wild mass of curling green hair. That confirmed what she knew to be true, but her rational mind had not yet accepted: _it was him._ So-min was the one who had saved her.

She drew in a breath as she watched him, tears starting again in her eyes, and this time it wasn’t from the pain of her wounds; her dear So-min, who had learned archery at Joona’s side, had travelled far from the village and was defending the lands from those who would hurt travellers.

 _Far from the village?_ She thought with another sudden shock of alarm as she watched So-min flip over, land and pivot on his dragon’s leg all in one fluid motion, then slash a man in the face with his hunting dagger. Surely she couldn’t be that far away; the dragon warriors were bound to defend the surrounding lands, but not much further. She realised then that she didn’t quite know _where_ she was; perhaps she had even gotten turned around in the snow storm.

And if So-min was here, and he was to find her, it would be a simple enough matter to simply bring her back to the village, where she would have to face everyone she had left behind….

Joona gritted her teeth; after all these years, she though perhaps she really would rather die, the familiar resentment surging up once again, stronger than the pain. She could not go back.

She should leave, now, she knew. But in that moment, something held her there a little longer; she simply couldn’t stop watching as So-min made short work of the bandits. He hadn’t even killed very many; only two were dead by his hand - as well as five by Joona’s - but the rest were scattering, stumbling over each other and throwing up great gouts of snow as they scrambled through the trees, shrieking about monsters and evil spirits.

Joona could not help but smirk a little proudly at that. But her face turned quickly back to a frown again as So-min landed in the clearing, turning in a full circle amid the bodies and the blood on the snow. He seemed to be distracted by the fleeing bandits. “Yeah, and stay out!” he yelled into the trees after them. His voice hit Joona hard, making a lump rise in her chest. It had deepened with adulthood, but in so many ways he sounded the same; the same defiant, principled boy she had left behind, taller and with a deeper voice and just a touch less roundness to his face, but just the same.

She thought back to their childhood; once So-min had been all softness and a gentle nature, rounded cheeks and soft green curls, but here and now he was all hard edges. Maybe she was too, though.

“Serves you right for attacking a lone traveller on a snowy night, in my village’s lands!” he yelled, as the last of them fled.

She watched as he leaned down as picked up as many arrows as he could salvage - and hadn’t her mother always taught them both that? - cleaned them off and replaced them carefully in his quiver, slinging his bow back over his shoulder with a sigh.

He was looking around now; for her, she realised. “Um…. Miss?” He sounded endearingly awkward, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned in a full circle. “Are you still there? Are you hurt?”  

She had to go, she knew; but still, she couldn’t quite draw her eyes away, merely watching him. He was looking up at the tops of the sparse winter trees and she sank down behind a rise, capped by another drift of snow, tucking her spear out of sight. She stifled a painful, teary laugh; So-min was always saying that no one ever looked up, but he never looked down. He always assumed that everyone would go up to hide, and she had always been able to beat him at their childhood games because of it. Still, he never learned, eyes always on the sky and never on what was at his feet.

She watched as he scanned the surroundings once more, and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Fine” he said, into the silence. “I’ll go look for you, I suppose. You’re injured, right? If you tell me where you are I can help you….” when only silence met his words he sighed. “Yeah, that was what I expected.”

Joona wondered who he thought he was talking to; she got the impression he was accustomed to his own company now. The thought stung her heart with guilt all over again. She even toyed with the idea of revealing herself, at that moment. But she didn’t.

Still, it took everything she had in her to tear herself away.

Eventually she did though, shying away to one side into the undergrowth as So-min turned almost to where she was hidden.

When the time came, she didn’t look back. She ran into the darkening forest, spear in hand and blood still running down her chest and frozen around her swollen, bruised mouth and nose. She ran as silently as she could, knowing that So-min could easily overtake her if he wanted; if he knew she was there, that was.  

She couldn’t let him find her; not now. It would only hurt him, she felt sure. Though time may have made him strong, seeing her now - and wounded, broken and remade as she was - would break his heart. And he would have to keep the secret from In-na, from Jae-gyu - they couldn’t know about this, she didn’t think she could face them now - and from everyone else, and she could not put that burden on him. She _would_ not do that to him.

And so she walked, stumbling away into the snowy night, using her spear as a support to prop herself up whenever she began to feel weak, spots dancing before her eyes. The cold was biting, and it was full dark now, and her mind began to swim; she was sure she had left So-min far behind, but now her wounds were beginning to catch up to her, as the heat in her blood that the fight had brought began to fade away.

It could only sustain her for so long, after all. After some time, the trees thinned out and she could see a little further - it was still not full dark - but that only revealed a snowy blur of scrubland, and nothing she recognised or could use to orient herself, even if she had had the clarity of mind to do so. Not that she had; inside Joona’s head, all was a white blur too. Even the pain had receded to the edges, and she had just enough awareness to understand that that was not a good sign, but not enough to think of a way to save herself.

 _Sleep_. The thought began to crowd into her mind, as the light faded from deepest blue to nothing, even the stars and the moon veiled in thick cloud. If she went to sleep, she could forget. The world would leave her alone then, and she could heal, and the snow looked so soft and comfortable, and…

 _No_. The word was like a jarring shock in Joona’s mind. She couldn’t fall asleep, she just couldn’t. She would die. She didn’t want to die, did she? She couldn’t remember. Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad; she couldn’t remember the reasons why she didn’t want to. She couldn’t feel her hands, and she couldn’t see them either, even when she raised them to her face; maybe she was dead already. So-min would die, soon, when his successor was born. Perhaps he even had a successor already? At any rate, she would see him in the heavens, and they would talk it over there. Perhaps then it wouldn’t be so hard.

She had dropped her spear, she realised; that was the final thought she had, before the strength went out of her legs, and she collapsed in the snow, all at once, lying face down in a drift.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but as the last of her awareness fled, she thought she heard voices, calling from afar; but perhaps that too was just a dream, as soon enough blackness slipped over her, and she knew no more.


	5. Just passing through

“And then, you just let the arrow go, like this….” So-min held Ara’s arm up as she aimed her miniature bow at the straw target pinned to the tree. She screwed up her face as she released the blunted arrow; it missed the target completely, hitting a tree behind it and falling down into the undergrowth with a rustle.

“…….Better” said So-min, inclining his head. He wished he could more easily demonstrate, but with his hand still thickly bandaged several days after their fight with the bandits, it was still difficult for him to use his bow. His grip was off, but, as she was determined to learn and he to keep his promise to teach her, he had decided he would begin instructing Ara in the basics as best he could.

Still, so far it had been going less than well. At least this arrow had actually gone in front of her, So-min thought. One of her previous over-enthusiastic shots had almost hit him as he had stood further off to one side earlier, and he had had to abruptly jump up to a tree branch, causing Ara to promptly burst into tears. 

Not that tears seemed far away now, he realised, with some alarm. “It’s _not_ better!” shouted Ara, throwing down her bow at her feet in despair. “You’re just saying that, So-min!”

“Well… ah… no! I do think - ”

“I’ll never be good at it, ever!” she stared up at him, tears in her eyes. “Will I?”

He gave a deep sigh, kneeling down to her level. “Ara, you’re six” he said shortly.

“Nearly seven” she said, lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“Nearly seven” he conceded. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, you think I mastered this by the age of seven?”

“N-no, but…”

“But nothing.” He felt his voice rising, despite himself. “You’ve got years left! Didn’t you know that, kid? But I….”  

He looked down at her; there were tears on her face, her large eyes welling with them. Immediately he felt a rush of guilt. He fidgeted nervously with the bandages on his hand as his heart sank. “Oh, no, Ara, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

But she had already away from him and jumped into a tree top a little way off, and all he could do was let her go.

But only for a little while. After some time had passed, So-min followed the green light in his head into the darker forest and stood at the bottom of the tree, staring up at her kicking her feet miserably against the trunk. “Ara?” he called softly. “Look, will you come down? I’m sorry!”

No answer.

He sighed, laying his head against the mossy tree trunk. “If you don’t come down I’m coming up. Say now if don’t want me to…”

There was no answer but a rustle of leaves, and so So-min jumped, landing on a broad bough, extending from where Ara sat in the crook of the tree. He said nothing, not meeting her eye, kicking his legs in the air as he stared contemplatively at the forest floor. “Hey, kid, I’m sorry” he said at last, clearing his throat. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That was…. bad of me.”

For a moment there was no sound. Then Ara sniffed. “’s okay. Mama used to yell sometimes too, when she got sad.”

“She did?”

“Yes. But she still loved me.”

So-min was silent. Belatedly, he realised that this was the time when he was supposed to say he loved Ara too. He coughed slightly. “You really miss her, don’t you?”

Ara let out a little sob, rubbing at her eyes with the heals of her hands. “Mm-hm…”

“Hey….” So-min extended a hand to her. “If you ever need to talk about her…. or not…. then…. well, I can’t do much, but….” he cursed himself for being so bad at this. “I’m here.”

She raised her head, looking up at him. Then, silently. she edged along the branch so they were sitting side by side, leaning her head against his arm. “Don’t worry So-min” she said. “I know.”

 

It was evening when they finally crossed the bridge and returned to the village.

And to So-min’s surprise and alarm, when he opened the door to the house, there was someone already there.

“Hello, Ryokuryuu!” said the golden-haired boy sitting at the table, sipping something from a cup, the bottle beside him looking suspisciously like one of those from the cellar beneath the house. “It’s nice to meet you at last!”

For a moment, So-min was too nonplussed to say anything at all, simply staring blankly at the intruder. “Who are you?” he blurted after a moment, “And how did you get in my house?”

“The window” said the boy, with a nonchalant grin.

So-min was just trying to think of a reply - _and really, how did one reply to something like that_ \- when he noticed Ara; her eyes were wide, as she looked from So-min to the intruder and back again. “What is it, kid?” he asked impatiently.

“….So-min… you can see him too?”

So-min narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Why?”

To his utter surprise and puzzlement, Ara immediately burst into tears. “He _is_ real!” And then, to So-min’s even greater confusion, she leapt across the room in a single great jump, flinging herself at the intruder and knocking him back against the wall; So-min winced as the table almost went with them, wobbling alarmingly. “Zeno!” she shrieked. “I always knew you’d come back!”

“Zeno?” So-min frowned, wracking his brains; he could have sworn this Zeno felt somehow familiar.

But it was no good; though this person gave off a strange sense of familiarity, of being someone that So-min _should_ recognise, he couldn’t place him; he was almost sure he had never met this boy in his life, for all that he felt like an old friend who had been there all along.  

“….Oh.” So-min eyed the cup and ceramic bottle on the table, ruefully. It certainly _was_ his sake, he realised. “I suppose I don’t need to offer you a drink” he said dryly, as Zeno picked himself up, cradling Ara easily in his arms, laughing with her and stroking her hair.

“No” said Zeno brightly. “Zeno found the cellar already. Very impressive! Zeno is grateful for Ryokuryuu’s hospitality!” Zeno indicated the second empty cup he had set across the table from himself, helpfully. “Please, have a drink with Zeno!”  

So-min frowned even deeper at being offered his own liquor. “Thank you, maybe later” he said, dryly. “Nice to know that in this day and age, you can just walk into someone’s house uninvited. I should take note of that.”

Zeno’s eyes widened, and he took another hasty sip from his cup, which was somehow still upright despite Ara’s enthusiastic hugging. “Oh, no, Zeno wasn’t uninvited! Ryokuryuu _himself_ invited Zeno.”

So-min narrowed eyes. “Huh? No I didn’t.”

“No!” agreed Zeno cheerily. “No, _you_ didn’t! Zeno’s just here to keep a promise.”

“….A promise to break into my house, then break into my cellar, and help yourself to anything you find?”  

Zeno smiled, brilliantly. “Yes, something like that! Zeno’s only sorry he came so late!”

So-min gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, kid, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, please would you get out of my house?”

“So-min!” protested Ara, before So-min could think of an appropriately cutting response. “Zeno’s nice! Please let him stay!”  

“ _Stay_?” So-min protested. “I don’t recall anyone mentioning staying, girl.” He frowned. “Besides, how do you know he’s nice?”

“Oh, I met Zeno after I ran away!” said Ara, matter-of-factly. “Only, I thought he might just be imaginary then, but… he’s not! Not if you can see him too, So-min!”  

For a moment, So-min wondered whether he really was seeing things; there was a brilliant golden warmth that seemed to surround Zeno, and he realised he had felt it as soon as he had come into the room. If he had been paying attention, he thought he might even have felt it from outside.

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm!” said Ara, patting Zeno’s wild golden hair. “Zeno is Ouryuu.”

So-min blinked. _This_ was certainly new information. “ _What_?”

“Silly So-min. _Ouryuu_ , like in the story of the four dragons! That’s how I knew he was nice. Because Ouryuu and Ryokuryuu were friends before!”

So-min’s eyes widened. _Ouryuu? Could it really be?_ That might well explain the strange sense of familiarity, and – yes – now that he concentrated on it, the golden glow that he been there all those years really did seem to be…. well, _here_. He squinted doubtfully at the skinny adolescent boy with the wild hair, sipping from a cup at his table. “Ouryuu. _You’re_ Ouryuu?”

Zeno spread his hands wide before him. “Ah…. Zeno’s secret is out!” he said, with wide eyes, slightly ruining the effect by giggling.

So-min rolled his eyes, taking the cup pointedly away from Zeno.

“Alright, fine” he said, closing the door behind him, even as Ara - in fascination - batted at the golden medallion Zeno wore tied to a headband. Zeno certainly _felt_ like Ouryuu - that golden light around him was, now that he was paying attention, not so far removed from the green that was Ara and had been Geon, from the distant blue and white of the others.

He was about to say more when Ara’s stomach rumbled. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had quite forgotten about food, he had to admit. “Ach…. are you hungry, girl?”

She nodded. “Zeno probably is too, right Zeno?”

“Actually!” said the boy, “Ryokuryuu took a long time to come home! And Zeno was hungry before, and Zeno thought Ryokuryuu wouldn’t mind too much if Zeno had some food!” He grinned a little apologetically, though really he didn’t look sorry at all, thought So-min. “Zeno cooked some rice and stew, enough for Ryokuryuu and Ryokuryuu and Zeno too!” He pointed with a thumb, through to the kitchen “It’s still keeping hot!”

So-min stared, as Ara yelled in delight, jumping off Zeno’s lap to run to the kitchen. “Who breaks into someone’s house, steals their drink, and cooks them dinner?” he wondered aloud, nonplussed.

“A friend!” Zeno bounded over to him, took him by his good hand before So-min had a chance to pull away, and tugged him towards the kitchen. “Come on! The little one is hungry and growing, yes, but Zeno made enough for second helpings for everyone!”

So-min had to admit Zeno was a moderately good cook; not as good as In-na, granted, but that was hardly a fair comparison. And Zeno tended to combine spices in a way that was… well, creative, So-min thought. Still, Ara seemed to enjoy it well enough, her gloom from earlier in the day quite gone with the appearance of someone who was apparently her great friend, the gods only knew how or why.

Zeno didn’t answer very many questions himself, either, So-min noticed. Whenever he tried to ask Zeno about anything directly, the boy always found a way to deflect, or to answer at length while nevertheless hardly giving away anything at all.

After they had eaten, So-min caught Ara’s head nodding on her chest, and, belatedly, he realised it was growing late.

But when he tried to pick her up and carry her up to bed she woke fully once more, protesting loudly. “No! So-min, please, I want to stay with Zeno before he goes away again!”

“Who said he was going anywhere?” said So-min.

“Oh! Then you’ll let him stay?”

“Now, that wasn’t what I said - ”

But Zeno was already bowing. “Whether Zeno stays or not, makes no matter! Zeno is always around and about!”

So-min sighed at yet another rather cryptic remark, stilling Ara’s protest. “Alright. Listen up, kid. Um. Ouryuu, I mean. Here’s the deal.” He poked Zeno in the chest, then poured the two of them another drink, then picked Ara up, ignoring her protests. “I’m going to put the little one to bed. Then, when I come back, we’ll sort things out. But before that, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Ah, alright! Small Ryokuryuu must be sleepy.” He ruffled Ara’s hair, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Zeno will see Ryokuryuu again, soon!”

But after putting a sleepily protesting Ara to bed, tucking her into her futon in the little loft room under the roof, So-min returned to find Zeno gone. Confusingly, the dishes from dinner were washed, standing sparkling clean beside the basin, but Zeno himself was entirely absent. He couldn’t even sense that golden presence anymore. Or rather, it was not quite gone, but somehow blurred out, like a lantern on a foggy night. Did Ouryuu have some sort of technique to hide his presence, then?

Frowning, So-min stoked the fire alone, spent a little time staring out of the window as darkness settled on the village, lanterns appearing in windows and at doors. He closed the window over  to keep out the draft, turning away with a sigh.

One thing Zeno had left, and that was a flask of sake with a little left in the bottom. Well, there was no sense in wasting his ancestors’ good liquor… So-min poured what was left into a cup and drank it, quickly and gratefully, then on impulse went down to the cellar to bring up some more. Just in case he wanted the warm oblivion that alcohol brought when the night began to close in.

He had a lot to think about after all, and his thoughts had a habit of turning to dark things, these days.

* * *

Joona awoke slowly, and when she did the first thing she noticed was that she was lying on something soft. Next came the impression of the pale golden sunlight of a winter afternoon, diffuse as though filtered through a curtain or screen.

For a moment, she thought she was back in the room she and So-min had shared, growing up; perhaps, she thought, the last year and a half had all been some long, strange dream.

But no, she realised. That time was long gone, and this was no dream.

As that thought came, with it came the pain, hurtling back all at once. Pain in her hand and her shoulder and her head and every part of her body. She cried out a little, feeling her lips crack as she made the sound. There was no answer. She shifted, realising that there was a thick, stiff bandage around her shoulder, and another wrapped around her broken hand.    

“Oh! Miss, you’re awake!”

The voice was a stranger’s, and it startled Joona, making her flinch and then immediately gasp in pain as the motion jarred her wounds.

“Hush, hush now” said the voice; a woman’s, coming from a little behind her field of view. A gentle hand on her forehead, another on her upper arm. “Lie still. There you go. You’ve been badly hurt, and the cold didn’t help I’m afraid. But you’re healing now. You’re safe, my dear. Do you want to sit up?”

Joona nodded, mutely, and the woman’s hands helped her to sit up, propping two pillows behind her. She was a reassuringly ordinary-looking sort of woman of middle age, in a neat but plain pale blue tunic, greying hair tied back with a strip of leather. _Who are you?_ Joona tried to say, but the sound didn’t come out like her voice at all; more like a dry sort of buzzing combined with a cough.  

“Water?”

Joona turned her head - the motion itself painful - and nodded helplessly. Immediately the woman lifted an earthenware cup to her lips, helping Joona tilt her head back and swallow the cool water; it helped, a little, or at the very least it took away the sticky, sour taste and the residual tang of blood at the back of her throat. “Th-thank you” she managed to choke out. “Um… where…. where am I? And who are you?”

“I am just a servant, Miss, charged with your care.” The woman bowed, where she knelt. “My name is Imin, and I serve Lord Tae-rin while he makes use of this fort.”

“Fort…?”

“Oh! Of course you wouldn’t know… you are in one of the forts on the northern border with the Fire Tribe. Fort Ahn, though that may not mean so much to you!” She smiled sadly. “It’s quite lonely up here, and we hardly see anyone apart from the border patrols, and sometimes a guard company out of Fuuga. But this is where the young lord’s scouting party brought you, when they found you lying in the snow. You had a lucky escape, being found when you were, you know. And by one so merciful as Lord Tae-rin, too. You must make sure to thank him well.”

Joona nodded, though none of that meant much to her. “I will. And thank you too Mistress Imin, for all you have done for me” she said, but she frowned. “Tell me… this Lord Tae-rin…. who is he?”

Imin blinked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Please, I’m…. I don’t know these lands well. I’m not from here. Who is Lord Tae-rin?”

“Why….. only the youngest son of Wind Tribe General Ten-su, of course!”

Joona balked, mind racing. “….I see.” If her saviour was a general’s son that could be very bad; he could want her for some political game that she had heard such nobles played. _H_ _e must have seen the hints of green in her hair, must know the tale of the four dragon warriors and what he might find if he forced her to lead him to her village_ …. Her thoughts spiralled to such things as she looked about the spare but pleasant room; it was beginning to feel more like a prison by the moment. “What does he want me for?” she said, unable to keep the sharpness from her voice.

Imin raised an eyebrow. “Why, what do you mean by that? He and the scouts were on patrol beyond the fort, and they simply found a wounded young woman in the snow…. it was merely common decency that had them bring you back here!” Imin laughed a little, but there was no mocking in her voice. “No one is trying to kidnap you, my dear. As soon as you are healed you may go where you will, within Wind Tribe lands, or outside of them.”

Joona blinked. “Oh. Really?”

“Really.”

“Ah. Well. I suppose I should say thank you. But I don’t have anything to give for your hospitality, or your aid in bandaging my wounds…”

But Imin waved off her protests. “Lord Tae-rin wants nothing in return. You’ll see when you meet him; he has a good soul. But come! You still haven’t told me your name! Or don’t you have one?”

Joona smiled, wearily. “Yes. Sorry, I do have a name. It’s Joona.”

Imin bowed again. “Pleased to be of service, Miss Joona. You are the young lord’s guest, so please do not hesitate to ask for anything you need. And when you meet him, you may give him your compliments in person.”

“I will.” Joona was still rather lost, but, she thought, she could certainly have done worse as far as places to wake up went. She couldn’t see her pack and quiver or her spear, and that made her nervous – but at least they were looking after her here, caring for her wounds for whatever  reason.

“Good.” Imin clasped her hands. “Now, I think it’s about time to change your bandages. Perhaps you can tell me some tales of your adventures as I work, hmm? I’m sure they are exciting! Then, perhaps, maybe you would like to eat something? Surely you must be hungry?”

She _was_ hungry, Joona realised; also, she suddenly found she was curious to find out more. “Yes” she said, submitting to Imin as she moved to change her bandages. “Yes, I think I should like that.”

 

“So,” said the general’s son, standing opposite her with his desk in between. A tall man, a little younger than she was perhaps. He had straight, russet-brown hair held back by a band of knotted leather strung with beads and feathers that undoubtedly had some meaning, or signified his rank; Joona didn’t know what that was though, so she was left with the feeling that they looked just a bit ridiculous. He folded his arms and tilted his head so the feathers moved a little, watching her with deep brown eyes, “….you are the mystery woman found lying badly wounded in the snow. Imin tells me that it was far from a forgone confusion that you would survive, you know. You had lost a lot of blood, but it was the cold that Imin feared would be your end.”

Joona frowned. “Yes, I can believe that. Um… my lord.” she added, very belatedly.

The general’s son raised an eyebrow, but he did not look angry; more amused. “The question is…” he said, walking around the table so that he was standing directly in front of her. He was only barely taller than she was, she noticed now, in fact they were almost the same height. He seemed to like thinking aloud, too, for his words didn’t seemed directly addressed to her. “Who are you? You’re not some noble lady are you?”

She smiled slightly, shook her head. “That I am not.”

“But nor obviously a professional bodyguard, nor a priestess, nor a merchant. Nor do you seem much like a travelling entertainer, nor – forgive my suggestion - a whore… and I do not think you are one of those bandits either, though that was my scouts’ first assumption. You should thank your luck that I recognised that you might not be all you seemed, otherwise your treatment might have been much harsher.”

Joona wondered what she was expected to say to that; he was regarding her intently, and his keen eyes gave the impression of judgement, as though what she said would decide her fate. Was that supposed to be a threat? She decided to play it safe. “Ah…. thank you for your trust.”

“You’re welcome. But now, answer me this: who are you, what is your mission, and why did it bring you into Wind Tribe lands? And how did it go so wrong as to leave you half-dead in the snow on the darkest night of winter?” He smiled wryly. “As I assume that wasn’t intentional.” When she still said nothing, he raised an eyebrow. “We could start with your name, at least.”

She pressed her lips close together before answering.“……my name is Joona,” she said reluctantly. “I’m a traveller… I left my village some years ago.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what, I wonder, would drive a woman such as yourself to leave the safety of your home?”

“None of your business” said Joona shortly, already beginning to dislike this man.    

To her surprise, he laughed. “Well, that’s fair enough; you’ve already been searched while you were unconscious, so there’s no suspicion against you. You can keep your secrets, if they matter so much to you.”

Joona blinked. They had already searched her? Well, she supposed that someone must have undressed her, laid her in the bed in which she had woken up. “I want my things back” she declared. “My pack, my clothes and my weapons.” _Her book too_. It was silly, really, to care so much about something that she carried with her only for sentimental reasons - and really if she had wanted to travel light she should have left that book behind long ago - yet whenever it came to it, she could never quite bear to part with it.

She would show it to her father, she had thought many times, when she found him. As proof of who she was, perhaps.

 _If he really was out there_ …

For really, the book served better as a reminder of that night, the better part of two years before; when she had overheard her mother and her aunt talking. The night she had left So-min behind with a promise that he couldn’t possibly understand then, but she would still hold to; that she would return to him with answers. If In-na and Jae-gyu had lied to him, been lying all along perhaps, then she at least would do better.

“You shall have them” said Tae-rin, interrupting her thoughts. Her shoulders drooped as she breathed out in relief, but even as she did so she felt a wave of weakness wash over her; she stumbled forward, pain tearing through her wounds as she jostled them, falling against something solid…. no, someone, she realised, as her vision cleared again. Lord Tae-rin had quickly stepped forward to catch her in his arms, supporting her bodyweight even as she clung to a bunch of the cloth of his tunic. He was very warm, she could not help but notice, as he smiled softly, helping her to sit down in a chair at the side of the room.  

“You are still weak” said Tae-rin. “Here, shall I help you back to your room? Imin will change your bandages for you, and you should rest.”

She frowned. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she managed to stammer out. If her years on the road had taught her anything, it was that the kindness of strangers always came with a price. And she thought it probable that this was doubly true for nobles. “What do you want?”

He smiled sadly. “Nothing, I promise.” He extended a hand to help her up, and she took it. “You can stay here as long as you like, Miss Joona.”  

“But why?”

He stared out the window, the milky light of the cloudy winter sky illuminating his eyes, turning them to a clear amber as he smiled. “The gods smile on charity. I’m a noble, the son of a general… but am I really worthy of that title if I don’t help a woman lost in a snowstorm, wounded and near to death?” He smiled at her sceptical face. “You don’t believe me? Well, Miss, you know I have never met someone quite as cynical as you?”

She frowned, thinking of the lies she had been told for so many years. “It’s dangerous to assume everyone is what they say they are, you know.”

He pouted a little, still supporting her weight with an arm around her waist, hers slung over his shoulders. “You should be careful.” He grinned at her, amusement in his eyes. “I get the sense that you think I’m too trusting, but that trust has also saved you. And no, that wasn’t a threat either. Now, shall we go?”

He smiled, helping her to walk to the door. That was it, she would realise later. That was the moment when, quite despite herself and almost without her knowledge, she had begun to let herself trust him.

That night, after Imin had finished changing her dressings and fussing over how her broken hand was healing, Joona stood by the balcony, looking down the hill from the fort. It was a beautiful, clear winter night, the moon shining stark over the snow-covered landscape and the bare branches of the distant trees, picking out the line of mountains on which the little fort stood in shining silver. The wind was cold, and she shivered a little, but she did not turn and go back; not quite yet, anyway. The wind felt good on her face.

She would set out again soon, she thought. When she was healed, her journey would begin again. Nothing had changed.

But perhaps she could find some peace here, she thought. Just until her wounds healed. Until then, she decided, she could let herself enjoy this sanctuary.

* * *

Not far away from the fort, a man and a woman stood in a forest clearing, looking down at the ground by the light of the same moon.

Hooded and cloaked, they inspected the surface of the snow where it had been churned and bloodied, the corpses frozen too solid for even the ravens to have their share; at least not until the spring.

The man bent to one knee, running a gloved hand over a greater welt in the snow. It was clear that something had torn through to the hard ground beneath, as though with great force. Around it were a myriad of footprints; he straightened up and put his foot in one of them, lingering there as the woman watched from a little way behind him. 

“He was here” said the man. He clenched his fists. “We must have just missed him…. we were so close.” He paced backwards and forwards restlessly, stepping over the bodies without breaking his stride, the hem of his cloak whispering over the surface of the snow. “But no, no, I must not get frustrated….. the gods will guide my path. And there’s still the girl…”

“Are you sure she is…. the daughter?” said the woman, hesitantly. “It was dark, maybe you were…. we both were…. mistaken. It would be easy enough… she was just a child when we last saw her, after all.”

The man rounded on her, his eyes glinting with anger from under his hood. “It was her! Didn’t you see the green in her hair! Her spear? Didn’t you see her face? You of all people should be able to recognise it, Miju.”

“Well, perhaps, but-”

“She looks just like In-na at that age!” snapped the man. “And she fights just like Jae-gyu, curse her. It’s clear enough who she is.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “The only question is, will she lead us to the boy?” He was talking as though to himself. “Or rather, what can be done to _persuade_ her to lead us to him?”

Miju seemed to hesitate. "Do… do you ever think that maybe it’s for the best?” She fidgeted with the edge of her cloak, in gloved hands. “Would you….. could you really do that to him, even if he did fall into your hands? After all, he… So-min… is-”

“He’s Ryokuryuu, is what he is!” interrupted the man, his voice rising to a shout. He dropped it after just a moment, taking a deep breath and straightening his cloak. “Miju, you know what must be done. Personal feelings do not come into it. They cannot. Not for me.”

“But they obviously do! Yes, for you too!” protested Miju. “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

He raised his head, so that he was staring directly at her from under the hood, eyes reflecting the light of the moon, two bright points in the blackness. “The gods” he said, with steel in his voice, “have given me a task.”

“If the gods truly are guiding you…. then perhaps there is a good reason you haven’t found him yet?”

His reaction came quick, too quick for her to possibly have predicted; a hand shot out, striking her hard across the face. It caught her off-guard, knocking her to her knees, hands flying to her nose. A single drop of blood fell into the snow from between them.

A moment later though, his composure was back, and he stared down at her almost as though he were inspecting her, as though she were some riddle he must solve.

After a moment, he extended a hand to help her up, which she took. She avoided his eye, but he put a finger under her chin, raising her head.  
He tilted his head, coming closer to her, still maintaining eye contact under the hood. He smiled, almost pleasantly. “We’ve been together on this road for nearly twenty years now, Miju. But you know, if you left, it wouldn’t break my heart; you’ve always known I’m stronger than that, haven’t you dear? Isn’t that why you loved me in the first place?” He laughed a little. “But please, by all means, leave if it pleases you better….” his voice was suddenly low and dangerous, though his mouth quirked up into a smile at one side. “If you are questioning me now, you can go back any time. I’m sure the village would welcome you with open arms. I think In-na would be especially… ah… pleased to see you. Not to mention that boy So-min…. how would he react, do you think? Do you think he would be _happy_ to see your face? If you do, you’re just lying to yourself.”

She had stiffened when he had mentioned So-min, but just like that, she dropped her head defeated. “Ah…. yes” she said. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.”  
He came closer, cupping her cheek, and smiling. “There now. That’s the Miju I know.”

She nodded, slowly, staring up the hill in silence. “So…. the girl? She’s the one we should go after?”

He nodded. “He knows her; they grew up together. If she can’t help us find him, then we can use her as bait to catch him.”

She nodded, slowly. “There’s still the fact that there’s the currently the full strength of a Wind Tribe border fort between us and her.”

He smiled wider. “Give it time. Like everyone with that blood, she’ll want her freedom in the end. Sooner or later she will leave, and… well. This land is good enough for our people to weather the rest of the winter. Or even longer, if that’s how long it takes. We can make camp, discuss it then. After all, if it’s me suggesting it, the others will surely agree.”

She nodded. “Well then. I suppose now we just have to wait.”

The man looked up the hill to the fortress at its top. As he did so, the night wind blew, throwing back his hood to bare a sharp-toothed smile to the night. Moonlight limned hair a dark shade of midnight green, shot with silver at the temples. “Yes. And now we must wait.” 

He extended a hand, which - after a mere instant’s hesitation - she took.


	6. On the brink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warnings for brief descriptions of suicidal ideation and violence in this chapter.]

Things were easier for Joona, after that. Day by day, she was recovering, her wounds healing, her strength returning even as winter began to turn to spring. The weather was slow to grow warmer though; with how high in the hills they were, it was colder than it would be at this time of year in the surrounding lands. _Just a little more time_ , she would sometimes find herself thinking. _Just until the weather changes for the better_. Then she would be on her way; she had time, after all.

Except time, Joona thought, seemed to pass strangely up here. It was certainly quite a different life from either life on the road or the one she had had in her own village; it felt almost as though she had fallen into another world, distinct from the one she had known.

And the truth was that after so much journeying Joona found herself surprisingly content for the moment, living in the little hilltop outpost. She was free to walk the walls whenever she chose, but the fort was lightly held so even the guards were sparse, and not much for talking, an arrangement which suited Joona very well.

Except sometimes, when Tae-rin was there too. She found, to her surprise, that he was actually rather pleasant to talk to when she had the chance.

(And his eyes were a very pretty shade of amber-brown, and when he laughed they crinkled up at the edges just so. These were the sorts of thoughts Joona increasingly found herself thinking, to both her consternation and slight alarm.)

Tae-rin was not always at the fort, though. Often he went on patrol or back to Fuuga to report to his father and brothers. But he always came back, and she was surprised to find herself anticipating his visits. He was kind, open-hearted, and good company, she reasoned; there was no reason not to. 

But in the end, it was no good. Though he was still an enigma that she struggled to understand at times, Joona soon came to the realisation that Tae-rin was also a large part of the reason why she hadn’t left yet, even though she was well on her way to recovering her strength.

This thought was still a strange one, and rather uncomfortable to her; hadn’t she always striven never to be tied down? Couldn’t he still be lying to her? Besides, there was still her quest, still the road and her promise to So-min and her father, out there somewhere in the world. It ate at her, but most days, she found herself able to push it away.

She hadn’t given up, she told herself. It was just that she was _tired_ , after all this time. One day, she would return, she would find the truth, no matter how impossible it seemed. That was something she was sure of, because she had a promise she had to keep. But in the meantime, she could surely rest here for a little while at least.

_And if she let herself enjoy the company of a friend while she was here, well, what did it matter in the long run?_

From him, too, she learned a good deal about the governance of the Wind Tribe and the goings on at court. As the youngest son of three sons and four daughters, Tae-rin did not have many demanding duties in Fuuga, and so he had been sent out here, to guard the border. He liked the open country, he told her. Too many ghosts in the city, and evil spirits haunting the palace. Joona had balked a little at that, but he had laughed, though not unkindly.

“The only ghosts there are my father’s stuffy, decrepit advisors, who should rightly their graves already, with how old they are” he had said. “And the only evil spirit is Master Ha-jun, who tutored me in calligraphy as a child. That grotesque man had it in for me….used to rap my knuckles with a cane when my letters were wobbly.”

And after a moment – almost to her surpise – Joona had found herself laughing too, the smile in his soft brown eyes infectious.

There were times when Tae-rin was away for longer, too; there was often trouble in these mountains – already a rather fraught boundary, between the Wind Tribe and the Fire Tribe, and the newly-crowned young king in Hiryuu castle seemed to care very little about resolving the petty land disputes along it. This meant it was left as a matter for the two generals, which, of course, meant that nothing could be settled, as everyone knew that the two could never agree. And so the mountains were something of a no-man’s land, rife with bandits and thieves, as Joona knew from bitter experience.

They had even heard tell, Tae-rin told her once when he road back from scouting, that there was a strange party of wanderers in these lands, who always went hooded and cloaked. It was even said amongst the men – and always by the friend of a friend, never a direct source – that these strangers killed bandits and Wind Tribe scouts alike if they came looking, were somehow entirely resistant to attack despite being lightly armed, hardly soldiers. Or at least, that was the story Tae-rin had heard, which he relayed back to her.

Joona had smiled wryly back at him when she heard it, then feigned fear. “Oh… but, now, my lord… are you sure it’s not ghosts?” she teased, wiggling her fingers. “Or evil spirits! Don’t forget those!”

He had laughed then too – a little blush spread across his cheeks, perhaps from the bite of the cold wind, Joona couldn’t help but notice - declaring that it might very well be, for how much luck his tribe’s tax collectors had had in tracking these strangers down, or, for that matter, collecting the proper toll from them for using the roads.

Joona had laughed too, and at the time, she had thought nothing more of it.

 

Spring was well on its way, and Joona was out on the walls in the bright cool wind of a sunny afternoon.

“My dear Joona! Will you do me the honour…?”    

She jumped, spinning in a full circle with her spear at guard. She had been practicing on the castle walls, trying to get back her fighting stance and strength. Just a few drills and sequences, as Jae-gyu had taught her, back in the village when she was a girl. She hadn’t heard him approach, but she smiled.

“Tae-rin!” He had long since permitted her to stop calling him by his lordly title. “I didn’t think you would be back from patrol yet!”

He had a spear and was smiling, his cheeks ruddy from the cold wind. “We returned early. But I feel restless still… spar with me?” He grinned at her, spinning his spear around in a hand with careless grace. “I’m impressed at what I’ve seen of your fighting, but….” he thrust at her, the feathers tied just below the point of his spear dancing in the wind. She blocked him easily with the haft of her own spear, leaving their faces close together on either side of the crossed wooden poles. “I must admit for a while now I’ve wanted to see what you can really do…”

She pushed him off, smiling despite herself, her heart quickening with something she could not quite put a name to. Then she dropped low, cutting at his feet with her spear, but when he went to block the blow, went to trip his other leg with the haft, nearly sending him sprawling.

He managed to catch his balance, just in time, aiming his next blow at her chest. But she drove the short spike at the butt of her spear between the paving stones on the wallwalk, using it as a pivot and spinning around, at the same time ducking so that the blow went over her head. “You spin so much” said Tae-rin, a little more flushed now. “It’s a risky way of fighting, isn’t it?” He grinned, thrusting his spear at her, though she blocked the blow. “It’s very elegant but it leaves your back wide open.”

She pursed her lips slightly; when she had learned to fight, she and So-min had stood back to back, as often as not. Perhaps some of that early teaching lingered… “well” she said, pushing the memories aside as she gave an exaggerated spin, putting the momentum into her next thrust, “it’s not like you’ve managed to take me down yet…. ah!”

She had expected him to parry the blow, but instead he had dropped his own spear with a clatter, grabbing the haft of hers with both hands. She lost her balance, falling against him so that they both fell to the stones, Joona falling full length on top of Tae-rin, with both their hands still gripping the spear haft in between them. Their faces were very close, and Joona could feel his breath against her cheek, the quick beats of his heart, and she felt her face flame with an infuriating blush. _She should get up, she should spring to her feet but… but, his face was so close, his eyes staring widely up at hers with astonishing, trusting candour, his lips slightly parted_ ….

Tae-rin sat up suddenly, startling her, and Joona had to scramble back to avoid their heads knocking together. She was blushing, she was sure of it, but the apology she had been about to blurt out died on her lips as she saw that he was too, something dancing in his eyes that matched what she felt herself.

They were still sitting on the ground, their legs tangled uncomfortably together in the broad walkway atop the wall, the wind blowing their hair into their faces, _and wasn’t it absurd to be so embarassed? Yes, surely it was._ Yet the world was narrowing, centering on just the two of them, and Joona felt her traitorous heart _flutter_.

She was never sure who moved first. But either way a moment later, their lips were crashing together in a hard kiss, Tae-rin’s hands coming up to touch her hair as he let out a small, vulnerable sound. Joona felt her heart hammering almost out of her chest now, every nerve of her body on fire; _this_ , this was what she had missed out on, for her long, lonely months on the road, and the feeling of it was an acute excitement.

Somehow, she was sure that she should pull away, that she should resist this. But as she kissed him, all the reasons why seemed suddenly to desert her; in that moment, there was only the two of them, pressed close and hearts racing together.

A moment later they pulled apart, both pink in the face, breaths fast as their eyes met and they shared a secret smile.

“So” said Joona, barely able to contain her grin. “Did you get the measure of me, as you wanted?”

Tae-rin laughed a sharp, breathless sound. “Yes, I understand very much more now…” he said, a wicked smile spreading across his face, as his eyes danced. His hair was slightly mussed where she had run her fingers through it, falling back from his face and making Joona want to kiss him again. “But I have a feeling there’s still a lot more of you to discover….”

 

That night was the first of many times they went to bed together. That first was all confusion and desperate clinging touches, both clumsy and erotic with their urgency. And yet Joona could not help but feel a great blooming warmth in her chest; she had not quite realised how much she missed simple touch, the warmth of another person.  

Afterwards they lay with their feet tangled together, Tae-rin leaning up on one elbow to twine a lock of Joona’s hair around his fingers. “I’ve never seen a colour like this before” he said idly, holding it up so that the lamplight fell on it, green undertones in the light brown glinting as he turned it this way and that. Joona almost froze, gazing up at him, but all he did was smile, lean down to kiss her. She let herself kiss him lazily back, arms wrapping around him to pull him closer, rolling on top of him; forcing him to drop the stands of her hair. He drew back, whispering against her lips. “You’re really quite a mystery still.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Completely unique.”

“Well, I’ve never met anyone quite like you either” she said.

He laughed. “Well, then at least we match.”

 _Yes_ , Joona thought, as she kissed him with slow heat, thoughts of the past, the future, and anything outside this room for once far from her mind. _Yes,_ _in this at least_ _we do_.

And for that moment at least, in that room, it was enough for her.

* * *

 

It had been several weeks since the encounter with the bandits – and the strange appearance of the boy who called himself Ouryuu – and So-min’s hand was nearly completely healed, though it had left an ugly pink scar across his palm and the ball of his thumb.

He clenched and flexed his hand idly; it was still stiff and aching, making it difficult to use a bow, but he had been teaching Ara as best he could anyway.

He stretched, feeling weary and sticky with sweat and grime from the day’s travelling and exertion. Ara had fallen asleep halfway through eating her dinner, exhausted but content after her archery practice; she was improving, at least a little, but he was prouder of her than he had ever anticipated.

So-min had just finished putting her to bed, but now he felt restless, his skin dusty and his muscles aching. His skin prickled, and he paced the little room as the sun set beyond the window.

What he needed, he decided, was a bath. Maybe that would ease at least a little of this crawling feeling under his skin.

And so, after slipping out to the well – deliberately avoiding looking for too long into its black depths - he presently came back with several buckets of water, heating them in the cauldron over the fire and taking his time to pour them into the small tub in the corner. The physical work of it was a distraction.

It occurred to him then that he should probably also give Ara a bath too; tomorrow, he thought. Let her sleep now.

So-min took slow, deliberate care with the buckets, but finally the water was steaming pleasantly in the tub, and there was no other choice but to do what he had both been anticipating and slightly dreading. He stripped off his clothes quickly, until he was dressed in just his trousers his warm, knitted stockings, and then it was with his heart in his mouth that he took of first the left - exposing his human foot - and then the right.

He caught his breath as he stood naked, looking down at his right leg; the scales, which had once come up to his mid-thigh, had receded down to his knee. He could have sworn they were a little more dull that he remembered too, as though they had lost some of the iridescent lustre they had once had.

His power was fading, there were no two ways about it. He had known this, of course, but the extent of it still shocked him each day. One day soon, he knew, he would lose all of it to Ara, _and then not long after_ _that_ ….

He grimaced, going to the table and pouring himself a liberal cup of liquor and taking a gulp before getting in the bath. Small pleasures – he may as well take them, he supposed. The pleasant hot water took away some of the stiff tension in his muscles, but did little to ease the dark thoughts swirling in his head. _T_ _hough at least the alcohol was starting to do something_.

At least it would be quick, he thought yet again, staring morosely at the water; it had been for Geon. So-min and Joona had gone out early that morning, and he remembered feeling it in the mid-afternoon, that rush of power, almost exhilirating, making him yearn to fly. Still, it had been tinged with dread and grief, for even then he had known what it meant.

Geon had been dead by the time they got home to the village, that evening.

Is that how it would be? So-min wondered, reaching out of the bath to take another drink from his cup as his mind ran over his conversation with Jae-gyu and In-na, some weeks ago now. Would he feel the power leave him all at once in the end? Would Ara feel as he had? Could he somehow manage to arrange for her to be far away at the time, so at least she didn’t have to see it…?

He didn’t know. Still, to _choose_ the manner of his own death…. it was an interesting idea, and though it was not a new one for him, it felt different now. Much more immediate and real. If he could choose when and how he wanted die himself, wasn’t that the greatest freedom he could hope for?

His thoughts carried on apace in that direction, beginning to be blurred by the alcohol. He had never cared much for his destiny anyway, had he? _Why carry on living bound by the fear that one day he would die, when he could just do it himself? That would show th_ _at_ _damn_ _ed_ _dragon god, who seemed to think his life was theirs to dictate_. So-min trailed his hand through the water, wondering vaguely if a bath was deep enough to drown himself in. The though crossed his mind with a strange detachedness; he was a little drunk now, floating in his mind as though already separating from his own body…

 _No!_ He frowned, dropping his empty cup over the side, scooping up a handful of water and splashing it over his head; it dropped down his hair and from his nose and down his cheeks. He couldn’t be having such thoughts; he owed Ara better.

That much he knew now.

He sighed, dipping his head angrily under the water and soaping his hair roughly; the water was growing colder now, so when he rinsed it again the chill when it met the air went some way to bringing his sense back.

He wasn’t dead yet. He wasn’t. And dying wasn’t freedom. He had to tell himself that several times, as he stood up and dried himself, squeezing water from his hair and roughly pulling on a clean tunic and trousers, pulling on soft leather slippers to cover his feet. He _wouldn’t_ think about death now. For the first time in his life, he realised, he had someone to protect, who depended on him and even - _gods knew why_ \- seemed to love him. It wasn’t a matter of just his own feelings anymore.

_And yet still he was dying…. it was cruel._

He felt tears on his cheeks, mingling with the water still dripping from his hair. He let out a frustrated growl, picking up the flask of liquor and pouring the last of it into his cup, sloshing some of it onto his sleeve. He barely noticed, taking a long drink, before sitting down on his bed and holding his spinning head in his hands. The water turned his damp curls of hair from green to almost black, hanging over his vision like curtain of river moss.

He threw himself back against the bed, staring at the ceiling as the world spun around him. It was a grander affair than any he had slept in before, this bed; it was raised on a little pedestal surrounded by soft mats and even had curtains of stiff dark green cloth, though they were rather moth-eaten and smelled of mildew.

(This was also the bed that Geon had died in, So-min supposed.)

That was his last thought before the darkness was pressing in from all sides, as he fell into a black whirlpool of sleep.

He woke to more darkness, a blackness so complete that he wasn’t even sure he had woken at all. At least the world had stopped spinning, but he still felt detached from his body, floating but with no sense of the space above or below him.

It wasn’t a void sort of darkness either, but a confining one, somehow crowding him in, now wrapping his arms and legs in tendrils of suffocating night.

Except now there were lights in the darkness too, he realised. Shining green-white, like corpse-flesh, they were vaguely humanoid but somehow terribly elongated, with blank eyes and long, reaching fingers that curled around his limbs…

So-min cried out and woke up with a jolt, sitting up in his bed in the half-darkness. His hair was still damp and his head ached with a dull throbbing pain. Though it was still early spring he felt hot - feverish? - and he cast off the cover, lying on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

After a moment, he decided to get up, feeling restless once more. Slowly, as though still lost in dreams, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed’s pedestal and onto the floor, feeling the cold against the soles of his feet.

He felt something touch his ankle in the dark, something cold, clammy. He looked down with a deep, horrible foreboding, and saw sickly green-white corpse hands, clasping against his ankles, colder than they should be against both skin and scales….

So-min woke again, stifling a scream this time, as the light of morning filtered down onto his face. He was panting, soaked in sweat, and his head pulsed horribly. He gagged at the dryness in his mouth and a wave of nausea washed over him; how much had he drunk the night before?

 _Too much_ , he thought, forcing the dizziness away as he sat up, feeling utterly wretched.

Yet very faintly, he could hear Ara singing to herself up in the loft room above, as she sometimes did in the mornings. And despite everything, the sound made him feel a little better, giving him the strength he needed to get out of bed. Before he did though, he checked beside the bed. There was nothing there; he supposed that meant he really was awake this time.

He sighed, swung his legs out of the bed, and got to his feet.     

* * *

 

Jae-gyu had always had nightmares, since that day when everything changed.

Her dreams were never quite the same twice over, though parts of them never changed, shifting and recombining. 

She stirred in her sleep, murmuring and rolling closer to In-na, who was asleep beside her.

Eyes that were the same shape as her own, though a slightly lighter shade of purple where hers were dark as poison berries. But these eyes were much more familiar even than her own. _Geo_ _n_ _’s eyes._ _T_ _urning away, filled with pain,_ _with disappointment and anger_.

 _With betrayal_.

Jae-gyu wanted to reach out, but something inside would not let her, binding her limbs in place within the fabric of her dream. That was how it always started; she knew what came next. She was only an observer here, but she could now see man and a woman, dressed in dark cloaks to hide their faces and their hair. There was a baby crying, on a snowy night in the dead of winter. A lantern’s light at a window.

Then suddenly there was blood on the snow, arrows in the sky. She was on her knees, fully within the dream now. _And oh_ _,_ _that was it;_ _it had all gone wrong, hadn’t it? Where was Geon? She wanted her brother back. And she wanted In-na, but_ \- 

The grinding crunch of bone, a tearing scream, mingling with the now-faint cries of the child, the howling of the wind. Snow was driving into her face, but beyond it there was something worse, In-na’s beloved face – and oh, they had all been so young then, part of her thought even then - pale and twisted with pain, reaching out to her from the blood-splattered snowy ground.

_“Follow him! Jae-gyu! Please…. go back to him… don’t let him_ _face_ _this alone…”_

_“But… I can’t…”_

_“You can!”_

_“In-na….”_

_“Please! There isn’t much time! He’s coming…..”_

A jolt, a fierce white-hot pain cutting through her awareness, a slice across her shoulder blade that made her world shatter all around her. The dream collapsed in on itself as she flinched violently awake, teeth gritted together and eyes wet, breathing hard.

Jae-gyu stared upwards in the quiet of the room as reality reasserted itself, looking quickly over at In-na to make sure she hadn’t woken her. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that In-na still slept peacefully.

 _Good. Let her sleep_ _for now; there was no sense in waking her too_. In-na had comforted Jae-gyu through countless nightmares in their youth, but though she hid it better, Jae-gyu knew, the past troubled In-na just as much.

Jae-gyu sat up quietly in bed, her hand going to the place where her shoulder met the back of her neck as the ends of the dream lingered in her mind. The scar was old, wrinkled and silvered by the intervening years - _and how many had it been now? Twenty-four years already?_ \- but sometimes her shoulder still ached in bad weather.

She had been warned of that of course, when it was still healing. It was a serious wound, what would have been a savage killing blow - severing her spinal cord at the back of her neck, likely as not - if she had not been warned, if she had been an instant slower.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders and leaning her head forwards, so her loose hair fell over her eyes. There was more grey in it now. It was not wholly for her own sake that she gave thanks that she had lived long enough to see that.  
But her task wasn’t over yet. She looked across at In-na sleeping, in the dim light before dawn. She had to protect her. With Joona, she had failed, and the tragedy of her loss had hit them both hard. Even more so because Jae-gyu knew it was her fault, knew that In-na also suspected strongly that Joona had overheard them talking, that night she left. Jae-gyu had searched for so long for her niece, with So-min at her side – as much as it pained her to place that task on his young shoulders, she needed his power to have any hope of finding Joona – but of course they had found nothing, so that was her fault too.

And even after all that, In-na had forgiven her. That forgiveness itself made Jae-gyu even more resolved to never let tragedy come to them again.  
And then there was So-min. She knew So-min could protect himself now, but Jae-gyu had once promised she would protect him too, and she was never going to go back on that.

 _And_ _of course,_ _the girl…. Ara_ … Jae-gyu’s heart was heavy when she thought of that child, and the life she must have led. She had had half a mind, at the beginning, to keep her away from So-min; if Ara never grew to love him, she had thought, then she wouldn’t be hurt when his time inevitably ran out, so very soon.

But in the end, she hadn’t even needed In-na to tell her that that was already impossible. The girl clearly already loved him, and she knew the look that So-min had in his eye these days. She knew all too well that it meant he would protect her with every bit of strength left in his body, until his very life ran out. She suspected she had known that before So-min had himself, even.

 _But soon the day might come when he had to put that to the test_ …  
She rolled her shoulders and sighed, knowing she would not sleep again tonight.

It wasn’t anything new at any rate; Jae-gyu was almost always up before the sun, and usually before even In-na, who also liked to start work early.

She got out of bed – leaning down briefly to smooth back In-na’s hair, and kiss her temple tenderly – and washed and dressed and pinned up her hair quickly, before slipping down the stairs and out of the house.

They needed water, so she headed to the well in the hush before the break of dawn. A few people were awake – it was to be another market day today – but no one seemed much given to speak to her at this time, as she passed by with the buckets.

When she got to the well, she set them down and lifted up the grille. After she had filled each bucket, she stood for a moment at the very edge and looked down. The cold, damp smell of the well wafted up at her from the circle of blackness, chill against her face.

 _Such a very long way to fall_ ….

“I know you know better than to lean too close to the edge, Jae-gyu.”

The voice almost startled her, but not quite. She turned, her face impassive, to see the village elder standing there behind her.

“Bo-seon. Good morning” she said tightly, as he came up to stand beside her, by the lip of the well. She had never cared much for Bo-seon, but she had a sort of grudging respect for him anyway; he was certainly better at leading the village than either she or Geon would ever have been. For all his bluster – much of which was for show anyway, she suspected – she had to admit that Bo-seon was no fool.

Still, it didn’t mean she had to like the man. She narrowed her eyes, noticing that he had no buckets or anything to carry water in. She sighed, unwilling to dance around a point today, or play his games. “What are you doing here?”

Apparently Bo-seon was feeling blunt too. “Taking the chance to speak to you” he said. He raised a white eyebrow. “I trust you know why.”

She sighed, folding her arms. “The same as usual, I assume.”

“You know, I wouldn’t have to if you just _listened_ , for once.”

She turned around, fixing him with a withering look just short of disrespectful. “I suppose it was So-min’s return that brought this on.”

“Indeed. And the child too….” he shook his head. “You have to tell him sooner or later, Jae-gyu. And now it’s not just for his own good. Nor even the girl’s. The whole village is in danger, as long as they are here, and…. he is out there - ”

“You… you have no evidence of that!”

“ _You_ have no evidence to the contrary.”

“In-na still thinks he’s dead.”

He gave her a piercing look, his eyes still bright despite the years and wrinkles on his face. “But _you_ don’t… do you?”

Jae-gyu looked away from him, started to speak, changed her mind. The gods knew that she and In-na disagreed on this, of all things. And apparently, Bo-seon knew too; just like him to guess where the two of them were at odds and use that against her, she thought bitterly.  

She turned to him with a sigh. “And if I am right… and I’ve never wanted more to be wrong in my life…. but if he _is_ still out there…. then what?” she tilted her head. “Are you so afraid of him?”

Bo-seon frowned. “It is my duty to safeguard this village! A duty you passed on to me, if you remember correctly…”

Jae-gyu bristled. She _did_ remember; she remembered all too well the day she had given Bo-seon her responsibility as the head of the village. She had failed one too many times, and so she had done it for the village; she didn’t want to fail them all too. She had never regretted her decision either, for it let her think of keeping her family safe above all.

His voice brought her back to the present. “Don’t you understand the risk? With the numbers he had then, you know full well we would not be able to stand against him, if he were to come out of exile to… ah…. _reclaim what is his_.”

“He has claim to _nothing_ ” spat Jae-gyu, her anger suddenly flaring up. “And you say you want to safeguard the village…. you talk of duty? All right, I’ll sing to your tune…. it is this village’s _duty_ to protect the Ryokuryuu!”

“Not at the cost of our people’s lives.”  
“ _Yes_ , at the cost of their lives, if it comes to that! We can fight! Are we not strong? This is what the village was founded for! Don’t we have the power of a dragon warrior?”

The Elder’s eyes darkened. “Jae-gyu, if you could only hear yourself. You talk like one of the bloodthirsty, bickering warlords of the old days. We are rice farmers and crafters, river-fishers and traders now, Jae-gyu. And that’s for the best. The freedom of the dragons was laid down in the treaty that ended all that bloodletting. But I cannot ask my people to fight for it! Even if I did, none of them would.”

There was a short silence. Jae-gyu squared her shoulders. “ _I_ would.”

He opened his mouth. “You are -”

But he broke off, as he heard a scuffling around the corner, behind them where the rickety wooden stairs led up to the main boardwalk.

Jae-gyu felt herself flinch, all her muscles already tensed, eyes squinting into the clotted shadows cast by the pillars and supports. “Is someone there?”

A figure, a grey ghost in the light of early morning, cowering back behind a beam. She lunged forward, hand going out to grasp -

\- A handful of fabric, the front of a child’s cloak. A familiar pair of wide eyes peered up at her in terror.

“Oh… Jumong?”

“Ah! Yes, Misstress Jae-gyu! I’m very very sorry, Mistress Jae-gyu! Please, I wasn’t eavesdropping I swear… it was just… ah, Mistress In-na wondered where you were, and I was in the workshop early, so she sent me to come and find you…. I didn’t mean any harm!”

 _In-na’s apprentice_. She stood frozen for a moment, then relaxed, releasing her breath and letting the child go. A feeling of guilt washed over her as Bo-seon looked on with a rather superciliious expression. _If_ _you_ _could hear_ _your_ _self_ , _indeed_. She sighed, forcibly stilling the trembling in her fingers which had gone automatically for her spear, which wasn’t there. She tried to smile, a gentle, reassuring smile.

“I’m very sorry, Jumong” she said. It wasn’t the child’s fault, after all. So many things were her fault, but that was by the by. “You only startled me a little. I am truly sorry I scared you.” She picked up the buckets, one in each hand. “Shall we go home?”

He nodded, with equal caution, trotting at her heels. Still when she tried to smile at him, he smiled back, very tentatively. It didn’t really ease her guilt or the tension in her shoulders, but it was something, at least.

As she left, Bo-seon watched impassively, but as she turned to walk up the stairs to the main boardwalk, he set a hand on her shoulder, drawing her to a halt. “You should warn So-min, at the very least. He has a right to know the danger… and I think you know that too.” He held her gaze. “Think about what I said.”

Jae-gyu tore her eyes away, turning back to reassure the once again frightened looking Jumong. “That I certainly will do” she muttered with a grimace, for she knew that his words would echo in her head; she was not likely to forget them any time soon.


	7. On the day you were born

Today was Ara’s seventh birthday. In-na, Jae-gyu and Jumong had come over from their house, and had both spoiled Ara rotten with gifts: more sweet buns than even she could eat, a new warm cloak, a little felt and leather doll in the shape of a dragon, a miniature set of combs for her hair that had been Jae-gyu’s mother’s.

So-min, for his part felt a little upstaged, for he had only given Ara a new little leather shoulder bag, to replace the tattered old one she had brought with her. He had gone to Seung the tanner several days ago for it, but on reflection, he realised, lately Ara hadn’t been wearing her bag quite so much, or keeping it so close lately, so perhaps he should have chosen something else anyway. In those first days, she had kept it with her always; So-min had also learned to recognise that when she held it close, it was a sign that she was nervous or troubled over something. He had to admit he had felt some curiosity back then, but he had suppressed it; it was really none of his business. After all, it was all she had left of her birth family, and he wasn’t going to try to make her talk about that if she didn’t want to.

So-min felt a renewed pang of sympathy whenever his thoughts strayed to speculating about Ara’s past. He himself knew nothing of his birth family, other than the obvious fact that at least one of his parents must have carried the Ryokuryuu blood, but however much love he had been shown by his adoptive family, it had never stopped him from being just a little curious. 

Of course, there was the fact that _his_ parents had by all accounts simply left him bundled up in front of a stranger’s door on a winter’s night, so he didn’t feel very favourably disposed towards them – if they were even still alive. But still, he had often thought that if he had had some memento of his past then he would have kept any reminder close, almost despite himself.

It had to be different for Ara, he knew. From the way she spoke of her, Ara clearly missed her mother, and had loved her dearly. That would certainly explain why she had clutched the little bag in her arms like a lifeline, those first few days and weeks, if within was some memory of her past.

Lately though, So-min had noticed that when they had been travelling outside the village for archery practice Ara had increasingly been leaving it behind, now that So-min thought of it. He couldn’t help but smile at that, though sadly; this really was home for her now. _When had that happened?_

“Ara!” it was Jumong who piped up. “Aren’t you going to open the gift from Ry- ah… I mean, So-min! Sir!”

Ara giggled, but then looked up at So-min. “Can I…?”

When he nodded encouragingly, she unwrapped the bright blue cloth to find a small bag made of crisp leather with a little embossing at the edge; nothing too elaborate. A little larger than the one she had, but not too big for a seven-year-old to carry comfortably.

So-min watched, inexplicably nervous suddenly as Ara touched the clasp, with wide eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, coughing and looking away. “Ah… I thought your old one was almost falling apart, so…”

She looked up at him with very wide eyes, and the room went silent as she gave him an unreadable look. There were tears glimmering in her eyes, he suddenly saw, and _oh no, he’d made a mistake, he’d managed to upset her on her birthday…_ _h_ _e should have just left anything to do with her past well alone, but now -_

“Ara? What do you say to So-min?”

Ara seemed to come back to the present. Her eyes lit up, tears spilling over. “It’s… so _pretty_! I love it!” And before he could protest, she was flinging herself at him across the table, knocking him backwards onto the floor in a hug. “Thank you!”

“Ah…. you’re welcome” muttered a slightly stunned So-min, as Ara bounced back to her feet. In the background, In-na half-heartedly attempted to scold her for almost upsetting the table, while Jumong giggled behind his hands.

Ara clutched her new bag in her arms. “I’ll go get my old one, and we can see if it fits!” she said. And with that, she scampered up the stairs to her loft room. Not a few minutes later she was back, jumping halfway across the room to the table and plopping herself down between Jae-gyu and Jumong. In her hands she held her old leather bag, the strap bundled around it. For a moment she touched the leather lovingly, without opening it.

Jumong was staring at it. Actually, In-na and Jae-gyu were too, though they did a better job of hiding their curiosity than the boy did.

“What’s in there?” asked Jumong.

“Now” broke in In-na, “I think we should let Ara-”

“It’s a book of stories” said Ara, taking them all by surprise as she looked up, smiling.

“…..Oh.”

“Huh” said So-min. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“What kind of stories do you like, Ara dear?” asked In-na, a warm, indulgent smile appearing on her face.    

Ara didn’t pause. “Stories of King Hiryuu and the four dragon warriors!”

In-na froze for a moment, her hesitation and the look she shared with Jae-gyu almost impossible to detect; So-min was practiced at noticing such things though, and he did not miss it. “I like those stories too” said In-na, her smile back not a moment later, though now it was a little sad. “They were always my daughter’s favourites.”

Ara brightened. “Ohhhh… you have a daughter? I didn’t know that before! Then I’ll have to show her this book, too!”

In-na froze, and Jae-gyu opened her mouth as though to say something that might alleviate the slightly strained silence. But before she could, Ara spoke again.

“This book is a special book though! Look how lovely it is!”

And then, the world changed, as quickly the opening of the bag to reveal what was within. The book clutched in Ara’s small hands was rather worn and faded, the stitching that bound its green cloth-covered, board cover to the pages starting to unravel a little at one corner. But So-min recognised it instantly by the twisting design of intertwined dragons, though he hadn’t seen it in over a decade.

After all, it had been Joona’s, and she had taken it away with her when she had left.

 

There was a moment of silence, in which So-min’s eyes darted to In-na and Jae-gyu, checking their reactions; surely he was mistaken, surely it was only a very similar book?  

But no, he realised, as he saw In-na’s eyes wide with shock and just starting to fill with unshed tears, Jae-gyu’s face turning paler than the creased paper of the pages, and – apparently unconsciously – she slipped her hand across the table to touch In-na’s wrist. Ara apparently noticed their reactions as quickly as So-min had, for she frowned, looking momentarily afraid. “Hmm? …D-did I do something bad?”

Jae-gyu was the first to recover; she cleared her throat, clearly struggling to maintain her composure. “Ah… no, Ara dear. No you didn’t, I promise you. …Please, child, may we have a closer look at that book?”

Ara hesitated for only a moment before giving over her treasure to Jae-gyu, who took it gingerly, it as though it might bite her. Quickly, she turned to the inside of the cover, eyes meeting In-na’s in silent shock as they all saw the name written there in faded ink. There were several generations worth of inscriptions, but it was the last one that all their eyes were drawn to; the least faded ink at the bottom, written in a child’s best handwriting.

_This book belongs to Joona._

So-min had known it would be there, of course; as a child, Joona had always been proud of her skill at reading, and she had read to him often from this book, when the nightmares kept him awake in the dark hours, by the light of a candle’s flame she hid so it wasn’t visible under the crack in the door.  

“Ara…” said In-na, in a very small voice. “Your mother… do you know where she got this?”

“She just… had it” said Ara, tilting her head as though confused. “She always had it. It was hers from when she was a little girl, she said.”

“Of course. I don’t doubt you” said In-na, gently, though her voice was still a little broken. Jumong sat staring in silence; So-min got the feeling that the boy knew on some instinct not to break the silence between words, not now.

Jae-gyu still had a hand on In-na’s arm, quietly supportive in a way born of years side by side. “Ara… if you can, could you tell us what happened to your mother? Please?”

Ara swallowed, her posture tense; it was clear enough that she understood that something had changed in the room, if not the full effect the sight of the book had had.  

“She…. she died, fighting” said Ara, tears in her eyes. In-na clasped her hand, the expression in her face tearing at So-min’s heart, but he didn’t stop Ara; they all needed to hear this, he knew.

“Who… who was she fighting?” ventured So-min.

“She was… ah… she was fighting a bad man! Lots of bad people. I don’t…” she scrubbed at an incipient tear on her cheek. “I don’t really know who they were, b-but… Mama was always scared of the thought of them. Then…. one day, they… um…. they caught up with us, and they… I think they wanted m-me….” Ara looked horrified. “And Mama… she started fighting with her spear, to…. to keep me safe…” Ara let out a sob, covering her eyes with her hands, and So-min half wanted to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but he stayed the motion before it had really begun, half expecting it to make things worse.

Ara sniffed. “If… if I had been stronger, bigger and better at fighting with my dragon’s foot like the Ryokuryuu in the story…” she gestured at the book, “then maybe she wouldn’t have died. Maybe she’d still be alive!”    

And with that, Ara’s tears came truly now, great, gulping sobs that made her small body shake. So-min felt his heart ache; that was so _like_ Joona, to survive all these years, who knew where, then die defending her daughter from harm. For a moment, absurdly, he felt almost angry at the girl he had grown up with; _how dare she leave him like that?_ _She_ _must_ _ha_ _ve_ _been out there all those years when he had been travelling, and So-min probably could have saved her if he had been there, fading power or not…_ _if only things had been a little different, if only their paths had crossed…._

Guilt gnawed at him, and he had to bite back his own tears, starting hot and sharp in his eyes.

Then he realised, a moment later, that this was hardly about him. Not when in front of him was Joona’s daughter - the fact that Joona had had a _child_ would take as much time to sink in as anything, let alone the fact that that child had been born the next Ryokuryuu, the girl he had been looking after these last months - and Joona’s mother and aunt. Compared to what they must be feeling, what did his own grief matter really?

So-min gritted his teeth, biting down on his lip. It was ridiculous, really; nothing had really changed. He had always assumed Joona was dead, was certain at the very least that _he_ would be dead before he saw her again; perhaps, he had thought, they would see each other again in the heavens. Joona’s loss was an old wound, sixteen years old, and though it still ached he had not expected that it could ever be torn open again, and so easily too.

Still, the sight of the book had gone a long way to doing so. So-min found his head was suddenly spinning, and he felt a buzzing in his ears. It was too much; he needed to get out into the open air, for he felt the room was suddenly too hot, confining and close.

 _Joona_ … she really was dead then. It was washing over him in waves, as though todrown him all over again each time he tried to swim. _Dead like Geon, dead as So-min himself would be before too long….._

He stood up, walking away from the table in a daze, hardly aware of where his feet were taking him. He barely even realised he had moved until he got outside and the night air broke over his face, almost painful but a welcome relief. Feeling something was good. It meant he was still alive.

In the dark he couldn’t see much - only a few lanterns at windows - and that helped, somehow. He jumped suddenly upwards into the sky, made reckless by the shock of what he had heard, trying to blot it from his mind with the cold wind and the darkness.      

 _Joona.._.

He landed on the canopy of the wooden bridge, staring up at the night sky, staring at the great upside-down, starry bowl of the sky and thinking about nothing for he knew not how long.

After a while though, the stars wheeled out their course overhead and began to face, the cold light before dawn shining, turning rosy, then becoming a sliver of light on the horizon. By then, the blood was no longer roaring in his ears, his hands no longer shaking. Or rather, they _were_ shaking, but with cold now, rather than shock.

After a little while longer, he jumped the distance back to the end of the bridge and walked quietly back to the house in the centre of the village.

* * *

 

It was late summer turning to autumn when Joona realised she was pregnant.

When the realisation came, panic came with it, sudden and irrational and consuming. She was sitting in her room curled up like a child herself, her eyes wide and her breath fast when Imin found her, laying a hand silently on the small of her back and rubbing calming circles there. Joona’s tears came then, hot and sudden, wrenching sobs from her.

“…..Imin….” she whimpered, clutching at Imin’s sleeves, burying her face in her shoulder.

“Hush, child, it’s all right” said Imin. “There’s no need for tears, hmm? Children are a blessing sent by the gods… and you’re young and strong. There’s little danger to you, and I’ll help you all the way. There will be a place for you and your child with the Wind Tribe.” She touched Joona’s face. “You’re our family, now more than ever. I’m just glad you realised it yourself rather than hearing things around and about… no, don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone, but you know, people make assumptions…”

Joona drew back, shocked. “You… knew?”

Imin sighed. “I guessed, is more accurate. It wasn’t exactly _un_ likely, what with you and the young lord as you are! But, oh, child…” she wiped a tear from Joona’s face, making her heart ache all at once for her mother, more acutely than it had done in years. “You needn’t cry, you know. The young lord will honour the child. He’s the youngest son, so he _might_ even be able to marry you without too much consequence to his family….” she stroked Joona’s hair. “At any rate, he will do right by you. You know that, don’t you?”

 _Will he?_ thought Joona, uncertain again. It must have showed on her face, for Imin kissed Joona’s forehead, then drew back, cupping her face and looking into her eyes. “Hasn’t he always?”

“I… I suppose so…” murmured Joona.

Just then there came an urgent knocking at the door. “Joona? Joona! One of the guards said he saw you run off in tears… are you alright?”

Joona flinched at the sound of Tae-rin’s concerned voice, but Imin gave her a look, holding her protectively close. “I could send him off, make up some excuse if you want to wait to - ”

“No” interrupted Joona, deciding on the spur of the moment. She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to run out the room and away from this place. This wasn’t something she could run away from, and, she realised, Tae-rin was not someone she _wanted_ to run away from. Probably. She squared her shoulders, collecting her thoughts. “No, I’ll see him.”

 

All things considered, Tae-rin had taken the news much better than Joona had herself. He seemed delighted, in fact, to be having a child, and had even hinted at marriage once or twice, as Imin had also suggested.

Each time though, Joona had brushed him off; she knew enough to know that Tae-rin would lose much of the position he held in the Wind Tribe if he married someone of no consequence like her, whatever he said. But that wasn’t the only reason.

For though he had told her that she and their child would have secure places here - their child could grow up with all the benefits and standing of the grandchild of General Ten-su, even though they wouldn’t be able to inherit as the illegitimate child of a youngest son and a commoner - she was far from certain that was what she wanted.

It was selfish, Joona acknowledged; she should be thinking of her child, who would surely have a better life in Fuuga than might be found anywhere else. Yet still, it was hard, thinking of her child, when the very idea of being responsible for a child was so frightening and still unreal to her.

And then there was something else. As her pregnancy progressed, Joona began to feel a sense of restless unease, growing into a dark, shapeless foreboding as the weeks passed. Suddenly the defensive walls of the fort felt constricting, like prison walls to close her in, her body heavy and strange. She stopped practicing with her spear after some months - as Tae-rin begged her to, for the sake of the child - and the restlessness got worse. She almost wanted to run away, to pick up her spear and her familiar pack and leave, stepping out into the night.

But, of course, she didn’t.

Tae-rin, for his part, was extremely patient with her, offering her everything that might help. He even offered to take her to Fuuga, but she refused; she knew that would not help, and she found the idea of meeting all of his family at this point wearying, difficult to face.

That was the problem; she didn’t quite know herself what was wrong.

That was, until the day that she did.

Her belly was rounding, her body aching in places she had never felt ache before, by the time she first felt the child kick. The feeling made her gasp, falling to her knees, her eyes wide. She had been told this would happen by Imin and some of the other women around the fort, but they had made it sound like a small thing, not a great tearing pain as that had been. It came again, making her gasp and cling to the bedpost.

 _Surely this couldn’t be normal_ ….

And then she bit back a distressed cry, as she understood.

 _No!_ She thought, fears crowding in at her. She had the dragon’s blood, she knew, but there was no way it was possible… _except it was_ , she realised. In fact, it was not just possible but quite probable. Her mind raced even as the child kicked her again. It was then that she realised.

It was quite unheard of for a Ryokuryuu to be born while the current one’s predecessor was still alive. _That meant her father…. her quest…. all of it_ ….  

Joona bit down on her lip, trying to think rationally. No, no, it was still possible. After all, it was true that what she had heard should have been impossible anyway, yet she had _heard_ Jae-gyu say it plain as day, all those years ago. _Hadn’t she?_ Somewhere, her father could still be alive. _None of this made sense, but_ _as long as there was that chance_ … _So-min was Ryokuryuu, and her father had found some way to prolong his life without his power, or… or_ ….  

Then another realisation hit her, with force. _So-min_. If this child she bore was the next Ryokuryuu, then that would mean that his time was running out, day by day. She held her hands over the swell of her belly, biting down hard on her lip and trying not to scream as she felt pain like an iron trap around her heart.

She wondered if So-min would know when the child was born. Perhaps he even knew already.

“So-min” she whimpered, out loud into the empty room. “Please forgive me…”

She cried for several hours as the light in the room faded to dusk around her, and when Tae-rin found her like that, she wiped her tears and blamed it on the swings in mood she had heard were common in pregnancy.  

He believed her, and Joona kept silent.

But after that, she continued to work through the alternate explanations in her head. Perhaps her baby just kicked very hard. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. She imagined herself holding a baby in her arms, unwrapping the blankets to see two perfectly normal human feet, tiny and perfect. She imagined it as though she could will that vision into existence, as though her own life depended on it.

At any rate, So-min’s did, and she would rather die herself than see the life ebb from him, to be the reason for it.

She stared at her knife sometimes, playing with it, turning it over in her hands. She could put an end to this. _It would be easy. It didn’t even need to be her…. when the child was born - if she saw scales on its leg - then she could easily just_ ….

Joona shuddered with horror, throwing the knife at the wall, sickened by the direction in which her thoughts had turned.  

Yet still, dark things swirled through her mind by day and nightmares set her waking in a cold sweat at night, waking Tae-rin with her screams. He didn’t know how to help her, and it shortened his temper. Joona had no patience for it; they argued bitterly, many times, then always came back together, one way or the other, with passion and desperation.

She didn’t feel close to him anymore though; sometimes she wondered now if she ever really had. Tae-rin didn’t understand. Yet though the sight of him hurt her sometimes, Tae-rin was the only real solace she had. Several times, he began to suspect something. _A supernatural explanation perhaps, a cursed child, the will of lingering evil spirits, demons in her head_ …. she remembered those bright days on the castle walls in early spring, when they had joked about just that, and it felt like another world.

Sometimes the sheer fact of how detached Tae-rin really was from all of this made Joona’s head hurt. He loved her, she knew. Maybe she even loved him, in her way, though she felt more distant by the day.

At any rate, Tae-rin wanted to save her, but he had not a hope of guessing what really troubled her, and of course there was no way she could even begin to tell him.

Or could she? Could she ever bring him into that world?

One day very soon, when her baby was born, she might well have no choice.

 _No,_ _there was still a chance she was wrong. I_ _t couldn’t be true, it_ _mus_ _n’t_ ….

She told herself this all the way up until the day she went into labour, in the spring. The cherry blossom was just beginning to carpet the hillside, but inside the fort Joona was screaming, as pain ripped through her.

She didn’t remember much of it afterwards; there was a lot of pain, and a lot of blood, and Imin was at her side holding her hand, badly trying to conceal the horror in her face while trying to assure her that everything was normal.

Joona had no idea how much time passed. At some point, she knew that something had gone wrong, and _oh, she was going to die, wasn’t she?_ She realised then, more than ever, that she didn’t want to die. _But there was no helping it now, was there?_ She couldn’t go back and undo this. _Oh, there was so much blood on the sheets_ … was that Tae-rin hammering on the other side of the door? Or was it really one of the spirits he feared, come to drag her down into the darkness?

She screamed and cursed at the gods and at herself, cried out to her mother and aunt and father and So-min, the only people that she could really, truly trust.

But she knew, with what was left of her awareness, that it was all futile. She knew she was bleeding too much; darkness slipped over her, a hand lying against her forehead, ice cold, like a corpse’s hand… or maybe it was just that she was burning… she shuddered, and the last thing she heard was a high-pitched, piercing cry as the dark closed in.

She almost stirred at that. _My baby! I have to see…. have to know_ ….

But even as she thought that, Joona’s mind blurred, overwhelmed, and the darkness covered her, drawing her down into black oblivion.  

 

When Joona woke, it was twilight, and the light was a dim blue as she opened her eyes. She came to awareness slowly, conscious of pain, a deep ache low in her body but little else. She recognised the room at least, as she pushed herself up in bed with an effort; it was the same room she had woken up in before, when they had brought her out of the snowstorm.

For a moment, before memory came, she could almost imagine that no time had passed in between, the intervening year like the fleeting shadows of some strange dream.

Everything in the room was the same, apart from the small bed in the corner, assembled from what looked like wooden crates. _T_ _his was a military outpost after all, they wouldn’t have_ _a real_ _crib here_ …

Joona gasped slightly; she remembered. All of it came at once, crashing over her like a dark wave.

 _The child_.

She let out a little cry at that, cracked from the bitter dryness at the back of her throat. How long had it been? And where was her baby?

“Mistress Joona!” The door opened, and Imin rushed in, bustling about to light the lamp, quickly coming to her bedside and pouring her a cup of water from the pitcher, helping her to drink. Quickly, Imin touched her forehead, all the while avoiding her eye. “Now that your fever’s broken, you should heal. That’s something at least…. oh, Mistress, it’s been five days, you’ve had us all so worried….”

“What….” she was almost afraid to ask, her eyes never leaving that crib in the corner. _Why was it so silent?_ “What happened…?”

Imin hesitated, darting a glance behind her. “You… well, there was…. tearing… because of… ah…. well. You lost a lot of blood, succumbed to fever for a time…”

“Not me!” snapped Joona, clasping Imin’s wrist. Even her own grip felt weak. “Imin…. where’s my baby?” She frowned, voice rising as Imin tried to look away. “Imin! What happened! Tell me….”

Imin looked genuinely disturbed. “Mistress… your baby is….”

“What?” demanded Joona. “My baby is _what_?”

“You gave birth to a baby girl” said Imin guardedly. “Don’t worry, she is alive, and ah… healthy….” she appeared to cast around for words, eyes shadowed in the flickering lamplight. Imin looked behind her, warily. “She’s sleeping soundly.”

Joona’s heart beat fast. “Let me see her.”

Imin blanched. “I… I don’t know if that’s wise Mistress. Your condition….”

“ _Let me see my daughter!_ ” Joona all but shouted, balling her hands into fists. “Bring her to me!”

Imin nodded, a haunted look in her eyes, and she went to the makeshift crib in the corner. As she lifted the child, there was a little mewling wail, as the baby woke. A moment later Imin was placing her in Joona’s arms, standing back as quickly as she could.

But Joona wasn’t looking at Imin. She barely breathed as she looked into the small face staring back up at hers. Whisps of soft green hair and large purple eyes. She took after her mother, then. Joona’s heart quickened with a profound sense of wonder that was nevertheless mingled with dread as she carefully unwrapped the blanket covering the baby, who fussed a little but not much, blinking up at her.

She peeled the corner of the blanket away, her heart in her mouth.  

She caught her breath at the sight of green scales, glimmering in the lamplight. She let out a small sound; for a long time she simply sat there in bed, looking and looking, willing it not to be true.

But it was; there was nothing more to be done about it.

When her daughter let out a small, gurgling whine, Joona wrapped her once more in the blankets, overwhelmed, and clutched the warm weight of her child to her chest, inhaling the smell of her, shock and guilt bringing tears to her eyes once more.

Because for all Joona had dreaded this, she found that for her child she felt nothing but love. A deep, fast river of affection, dredged up from some part of her she hadn’t known existed, wrenching sobs from her throat as the little girl in her arms cried out too. Joona rocked her slightly, whispering what soothing words she could - and really, she knew too little about babies, she would have to learn - and tried not to think of So-min, trying not to think that now the child in her arms was taking away his life, day by day. Tried not to think of how it had been when the same had happened to her father, all those years ago.

_Did she really still believe he could still be alive? How long had it been now?_

She pushed that thought aside as her daughter grasped a handful of her hair in a minute fist, causing Joona to let out a sob.

Imin came to stand beside her, breaking into the moment. “Mistress…” she wrung her hands. “I… the others who were there for the birth have been sworn to secrecy… I have not yet told the young lord about….” she tailed off, gesturing rather desperately. Her voice was hushed and fearful. “Mistress, with respect….” her voice was hushed and fearful. “Aren’t you afraid?”

 _Was she afraid?_ Joona nearly laughed, through her tears. Yes, she was very afraid. Of course she was. But certainly not for the reasons Imin thought. “Afraid?”

“Don’t you think it is…” her voice fell to a whisper. “An ill omen. An evil spirit, inhabiting the form of a child?”

Joona’s mouth dropped open. _Was that what they thought_ …? She stared at Imin, holding the child close to her chest defensively, raising her head with no small pride. “How _dare_ you say that about my daughter.”  

Imin looked on the point of tears. “I didn’t mean…”

“Go!” flared Joona, clutching her child close, bouncing her and whispering what soothing words she could as the baby cried out again. She felt anger rise up in her chest, born from fear and grief and overwhelming love. “Get out, and leave me see to my daughter if you really believe such horrible things!”    

“Mistress, you aren’t strong enough….”

“Go!”

Imin hurried out, as though an evil spirit was indeed after her.

Joona was barely paying attention anymore though; once again, there were tears in her eyes as she looked down at her child. She smiled, extending a finger; the little girl grasped it tight.

“Hello, little one” Joona heard herself say, even as the reality of what this girl’s life may be began to dawn on her. For if she was the next Ryokuryuu, then likely as not Joona would outlive her, her life cut short…. she wiped away a wayward tear that had fallen on her child’s cheek.

No. She must not think of death, not yet when there was a whole new life, cradled in her arms. _There was time. There was time enough_.

“You need a name” she decided. And then, after a moment of deliberation, “Ara.”

* * *

 

Ara was still awake when In-na came to check on her, but she had her face stuffed into her pillow and was lying perfectly still. Whatever she had done to make So-min so angry, Ara didn’t want to accidentally say something wrong to In-na too. Far better to pretend she was asleep.

But then, just as In-na sighed and went to turn away, Ara betrayed herself; a sad little whimper of a sob slipped from her, making In-na pause.

“Oh….you’re awake, darling?”

Well, it was too late now; she may as well risk it. Ara raised her head. “…M-maybe?”

In-na turned at the door, looking back to Ara. Her face harshly lit by the lantern she held, its flickering shadows making her features dance in a way that frightened Ara, a little.

Ara sat up in bed, trying to keep the trembling from her voice. “Is So-min coming back?”

In-na’s eyes went a little wide; Ara knew what it meant, when a grown-up made that face. After all, her mother had made it sometimes, enough for Ara to understand. It meant that the question you asked them scared them, and they were trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t scare Ara too much.

It also meant that whatever they said next would probably be a lie.

“Of course” said In-na, with a hasty smile. She came back to stand beside Ara’s futon, her cane clacking, and set down the lantern on the floor of the little loft room. With an effort, she sat down on the low stool, and laid a hand against Ara’s cheek. “He’s just had a shock, that’s all. He’ll come back, when he’s ready.”

Ara frowned, wondering if that was really true. “Is it my fault?”

That face again, just for a fleeting moment. But then, In-na’s eyes softened, her gaze becoming sorrowful, and - quite unexpectedly - she clasped Ara against her chest in a hug, leaning over the bed. “No” she whispered into Ara’s hair. “No, you haven’t done anything wrong, my darling child.”

Ara nodded, bunching the cloth of her tunic in her hands; she had been having so much fun on her birthday, had wanted to show her new family her one most treasured secret, but for some reason, she had upset them all.    

In-na seemed to see her doubt. “Nothing that happened tonight is your fault. Do you understand, little one?” In-na stroked her hair. “It was just a shock, that was all. Your Mama…” she shook her head. “She was…. she was _my_ dear little girl.”

Ara gaped, so surprised she forgot to cry. “She was?”

In-na nodded,stroking her cheek. “So-min was like a brother to her. Remember how sad you were, right after you learned she was gone?”

Ara nodded, choking back a sob at just the memory. She looked up, understanding. “Oh… and that’s what you and So-min and Jae-gyu feel like now?”

In-na hesitated a moment. The she nodded, burying her face in Ara’s hair and kissing her head. “Yes” she said. “Yes it is.” In-na drew back. “But So-min will be back, I know he will.”

“Oh…. how do you know?”

“Because we’ve got you now. We’re going to keep you safe, all of us together. I promise.”  

Ara nodded; in that moment, she almost believed it.

It was only later when she began to doubt, really. Only in the dark hours after In-na had left and the sound of her cane on each of the stairs had been replaced by the sound of In-na and Jae-gyu talking in quiet voices as they cleared away the dishes downstairs.    

What were they waiting here for? Ara wondered, unable to sleep. Were they waiting for So-min to get back?

Was So-min really going to come back?

 _And_ , came the next question, _would he really want to if it meant he would have to see Ara every day, and be reminded of her Mama, the sister he would never see again?_

They all must hate her, Ara realised in horror. In-na had to be lying when she said they didn’t, because grown-ups always lied about things like feelings, and people who weren’t coming back. That much she knew for certain.

She thought about it for a long, long time, staring at the ceiling of her little room. She had never had her own room before; it was strange. She had thought, since So-min, In-na and Jae-gyu had given her her own room and new clothes and pretty things, that they must want her here. Sometimes it even seemed like So-min might love her as much as Mama had - or as much as Ara loved him - but other times he seemed strange, distant. Still, she hadn’t thought he was angry; just very sad.

But then tonight he had found out about Mama, and now she didn’t know anymore.

Still she lay awake, tossing and turning. Finally she got up, placing her feet on the floor. It seemed clear, Ara realised, what she had to do.

She had to leave.

Hadn’t that been what Mama had always done? It was probably for the best. Every day, they would look at her and be reminded of Mama, and it would make them sad. And Ara didn’t want that. The last thing she wanted was to make them sad.

After that, it was just a matter of packing her little bag, deliberating for a moment about sneaking downstairs for her book; it had travelled with Mama and her for so long, after all. But she decided against it, in the end; Jae-gyu and In-na were still awake down there and they would never agree to let her go.

Besides, if In-na told her the truth, then the book was more theirs than it was Ara’s, wasn’t it? She hoped they gave it to So-min, she thought if So-min had it, that would be just as nice to think about as having it with her on her journey.

Satisfied with that, she pulled on her warm boots and cloak - would they be terribly angry if she ran away in the clothes she had been given as presents, now? - and scrambling up to the high window in her little loft room. From there, she managed to climb out onto the roof, under a sky just beginning to blush with the colours of dawn.

She looked up at the great arc of the heavens above her and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Then, she jumped into the sky, to wherever her feet might take her.  


	8. The wind changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence in this chapter.

For a moment So-min stood outside the house with his hand placed flat against the door, hesitating before going back. His eyes itched with weariness, but more than that he felt guilt; there was no reason that he should have left them all like that, none at all.

What he had learned had shaken him, yes, but surely it had shaken them all the more. He must certainly have hurt Ara, simply running away as he had, not to mention the way he had left In-na and Jae-gyu to pick up the pieces. He winced, staring up at the morning sky between the houses.

He was just about to pluck up his courage and enter, when he felt the wind against his face change; it was picking up and turning about, blowing So-min’s hair into his eyes. He raised his face to that wind, frowning, a shiver running up the length of his spin as he stood in front of the door of the silent house. Something wasn’t right here; he couldn’t quite place it, but something was out of place.

Almost by instinct, he reached out to try to find the reassuring green glow of light that was Ara’s presence in his mind. ( _A_ _nd really, when had that become such a familiar reassurance, even a habit?_ _)_ She would be nearby, he knew. In-na or Jae-gyu had probably put her to bed long ago. He wondered, with a renewed twinge of guilt, what they had said to her.

He reached out, wanting to know that she was safe and well before he entered the house, to face the reality of how their world had changed in so short a time.

The only problem was, she wasn’t there. 

So-min twitched in alarm as he reached out in wider circles, after a moment furrowing his brow in concentration, his heart rate increasing as he became inescapably sure; Ara was not in the house, or even in the village, as far as he could sense.

But if not there, then where was she?

 _No, she had to be_ _here_ _, it didn’t make sense…. he just had to try harder, further_ …. but the further he looked, the more inescapable his conclusion was.

So-min stood frozen on the doorstep for a long while, simply searching, immobilised by the agonising tension building up in his shoulders and back.  

When he did find her, he dropped his shoulders again, letting out a string of curses. The green light was there, it was as bright and clear as ever, but _where_ she was didn’t make sense… _how could Ara possibly be so far away?_ _W_ _hy should she_ _leave at all, after everything they had been through_ _….?_

 _Well, is it really so strange? s_ aid a cruel little voice in the back of his mind. _When Joona left you didn’t see it coming either, did you? And for all your power, you never could find her again._

_Why should her daughter be any different?_

So-min stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.

Perhaps it was because he had been thinking about her that day. Perhaps it was because that night nine years ago had been so much on his mind lately, the night when Joona had left.

But fear overtook him then, a crawling, irrational foreboding that made his breath come unevenly for the second time that night, as though something was constricting his chest.

 _No, no, not again, please not now_ …..

The next thing he knew he was moving. He slammed open the door into the lamplit kitchen, startling In-na who was sitting still and watching over Jumong who had fallen asleep with his head on the table, in So-min’s empty place.

As he burst into the room the boy woke, jerking upright to stare at So-min in bleary-eyed alarm. At the same moment In-na turned her head to look at him too, her eyes widening at the sight of him; dimly, So-min registered that he must look wild-eyed, windblown and panicked himself.

“So-min” said In-na, her hand flickering to her cane which leaned against the table, as though to rise to her feet. “What’s happened?”

“A… Ara” he managed to gabble out, running his hand distractedly throught his hair. “Where is Ara?”

In-na furrowed her brow, stroking Jumong’s hair reassuringly as the boy huddled closer against her side, in obvious fear. “She was in bed asleep several hours ago…. Jae-gyu just went to check on her.”

Immediately, So-min was starting towards the stairs, but In-na grasped his wrist as he passed her, making him stop. “So-min, if there’s some danger to - ”

But she got no further, for at that moment, Jae-gyu appeared at the door that led to the stairs, slamming it open with almost as much force as So-min had used a moment ago, making In-na wince a second time.

“So-min!” she said, her dark eyes going to him instantly, holding him in place with her implacable gaze. “Thank the gods you’ve returned. Ara is gone and….” she took a deep breath, and suddenly he noticed that she looked quite as fearful as he had ever seen her, and somehow older, far more worn and weary than before, with deep shadows under her eyes. “……And you’re the only one who can find her.”

* * *

 

By the next day, Joona was able to get up and walk around the room, even wash and dress herself. Though Imin herself did not come back, other women were sent to check her condition, to bring her food and medicine for her pain, and to take away the dirty linen. They did not speak except to answer Joona’s questions, shortly and abruptly, barely meeting her eyes.

Was it just Joona’s imagination or was there fear in their eyes, just as there had been in Imin’s?

It didn’t matter though; she tried not to dwell too much on such things. She didn’t care much for conversation anyway, but the visits were at least a small mercy.

There was even a nurse who taught her how to change Ara’s clothes and wash her, to feed her from her breast - and that left Joona sore, but she was determined to do it anyway - and anything else she wanted to know.

But it was cold comfort, really, when her head still swarmed with questions. What was going on outside her room? Where was Tae-rin? Why had he not come to visit her, and to see his child? Though she didn’t know the answers, the questions alone filled her with a vague sort of dread.

And then, as she began to have the strength to rise there was another cause for fear, much more real and tangible.

Her door, she soon realised, was locked from the outside.

For a while, Joona hammered on it, but nothing came of it, at least not until the next visitor. But by then she had exhausted herself; she had still not fully recovered her strength, after all.

Still, she found the sight of that locked door sent fear crawling up her spine. Vague plans sometimes came to her; some days, she imagined herself stronger, pushing past the nurse or the servant who came with her food or medicine to get outside, taking Ara and running as far as she could.

But it was a ridiculous notion, she knew. Even if she was strong enough, did she not have some part of herself tied to this place now? She felt somewhat beholden, at least, to Tae-rin. Ara was his daughter too, after all. Besides, she didn’t even know what was going on beyond the confines of her room; what if something had happened to him?

_Fears upon fears upon fears…_

Joona dismissed them as best she could. She knew she had to bide her time, grow stronger; after all, they couldn’t keep her here forever.

_Could they?_

As Ara lay in her cradle, Joona would sing her songs half-remembered from her childhood. Joona had to admit is was much for her own benefit as Ara’s though; it helped, a little, to keep the fear at bay. Sometimes she would also read to her from her book of stories, even though Ara was far too young to understand the tales of King Hiryuu and his four dragon warriors. The words made Joona choke up with their familiarity sometimes, but she read them anyway. She slept whenever she could, because Ara would wake in the night often, and Joona would have to be there to see to her needs, to lull her back to slumber.

 _She’s so vulnerable, so dependent on me_ , Joona thought sometimes. That was what scared her, as much as anything. That, and the fact that she herself was for the moment so completely dependent on people who did not seem to want to allow her her freedom or even speak with her, for reasons she did not understand.

Weeks passed, and Joona began to feel stronger, and with her physical recovery the desire to leave her room grew too. She dressed every day now, putting on her outdoor clothes and pacing in her room, even trying some gentle exercises to try to get her strength back.

It had been weeks, she thought, by the change in the light, the shifting lengths of the days. Any day now, she judged, she could put her putative escape plan into action; push past the servant at the door, run away with her pack and her spear reassuringly to hand, her daughter held close and safe in her arms. There was Tae-rin, of course, but if breaking his heart was the price she had to pay for freedom for herself and Ara, then she didn’t feel too ashamed to say that she would readily pay it.

Yet something still held her back; it was as if, over the course of her recovery, this room had grown bars over the windows and the door. Ones she couldn’t see, but which were as insurmountable as any of metal. Furthermore, not only did they keep her here, but they also kept the world out, providing not only a prison but also something like a safe haven from anything that might hurt her child.

Illusory though that impression was, Joona could not quite shake it from her mind. Even though her strength was returning, she still sometimes felt weak and powerless as new aspects of horrors that might befall her daughter - new things that Joona would not be able to protect her from - occurred to her.  

And there was that other mystery that weighed heavy on her too; since Ara’s birth, she had seen nothing of Tae-rin. _Why had he not visited her?_

She always remembered the fear in Imin’s eyes then. _W_ _hat exactly had_ _Imin_ _told him - or not told him - about Ara?_

Nevertheless, Joona really was on the point of leaving the room, or at the very least begging once more to be allowed out to see Tae-rin if he was in the fort, when he came.

It was near midnight, and Ara had just – finally - fallen asleep. Joona was very tired, and was just about to undress and prepare to sleep herself when there came a sharp exclamation and a clatter on the stairs outside, followed by a knock at the door, sharp and urgent.  

“Joona? Are you there?”

Joona started. It was Tae-rin’s voice, breaking into the silence. Ara stirred in her cradle, though she did not wake.

Another knock, louder than the first. “….Joona?”

“Come in” said Joona after a long moment, strangely hesitant.

He did, and as he entered, Joona saw Imin behind him, giving her a look that was a mixture of apologetic and downright frightened before hurrying off down the stairs.    

“Joona.”

She bowed, suddenly absurdly awkward around him. “…..My Lord.”

“Joona….” he rushed to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her. It took her by surprise and she felt herself flinch, her face burning and her limbs going rigid with inexplicable nervousness. He broke away from her, looking hurt. “Did I do something wrong…?”

She looked down at the floor, still encircled by his arms, rubbing the back of her head. “No, I….” she tailed off.

“I feared you were dead” said Tae-rin, his voice thick with emotion. “They wouldn’t let me see you for _weeks_ , and I thought you’d died, and they didn’t want to tell me…” he ran his hands through his hair, knocking the feathers askew. “But you’re alive. Oh, Joona….”

“I’m sorry” she whispered. “I should have gone to you before, I don’t know what Imin was thinking, keeping you away, locking me in…” she stilled his alarmed protest with a raised hand, darted a glance at the cradle. “But… I’m fine. And so is Ara. Ah… our daughter.”

“….Ara….” he said, in wonder, crossing the room and looking for the first time down at the sleeping baby in her blankets. “May I….?”

With only a moment’s hesitation Joona nodded, lifting Ara in her arms, still wrapped in her blanket. The baby woke as she did so, crying a little, until Joona soothed her. Then she carefully handed her over to her father.

Tae-rin held Ara with reverence, as though she were made of fine porcelain, a small, enraptured smile appearing on his face. Yet this did little to alleviate the knot of anxiety building up in Joona’s stomach, words of spirits and demons coming back to her. _What exactly had Imin told him…?_

Suddenly Ara woke once more, squirming a little in Tae-rin’s arms. “She’s probably still hungry” said Joona hastily, though she had just fed Ara before Tae-rin had entered. “Here, let me - ”

But it was too late. Even as she spoke, Ara’s squirming had loosened one corner of the blanket, and beneath, brilliant green scales glimmered in the dim light.

Time seemed to slow down as Joona flinched, watching Tae-rin’s eyes go wide with shock, then horror. He let his hand linger above Ara’s leg, as though unwilling to touch, but nevertheless filled with horrified fascination. But after a moment it was gone, and he looked up at Joona, fear and anger in his eyes. “What is…. _this?_ ” He squared his shoulders, holding Ara at arms length as he stared at Joona, as though seeing her with new eyes, gaze filled with something almost like revulsion. “Ah…. you…. what…. what are _you?_ ”

She frowned. “What - ”

“ _A demon_ ” he interrupted, hoarse and sharp. The word was like a punch to her throat. “An evil spirit!” He thrust the child into Joona’s arms, making a sign to ward against evil. “This isn’t my daughter!”

“Tae-rin….” Joona cried out, distressed, “no, no it’s not like that…. there’s things I should have told you….”

“Yes! Yes there are!” Tae-rin all but shouted, pacing in a circle, eyes wide and wild. “You are…” he looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “You’re one too! I see it now! Or… or…” he cast around, his eyes growing even wider with horror. “Or you slept with an evil spirit, in human form! You did! Didn’t you!”

“You idiot, Ara is _your_ child! Yours and mine!”

His eyes glimmered with desperate tears. “ _Why should I believe you?_ ”

Ara had woken at the sound of shouting and began to wail, and Joona could do little to quiet her. “No!” she protested. “Tae-rin, if you could let me explain….”

“You don’t need to explain, monster!” he shouted, the words stinging. “She… _that_ …. is a monster too!” To her great alarm, suddenly he was picking up Joona’s knife from the table, pointing it at her. “I see it all now… was it all lies, Joona?” tears were streaming down his face.

“I’m not a spirit or a demon and neither is our daughter!” threw back Joona, angry now, even as she tried to keep the quaver out of her voice at the sight of the knife. She held Ara - still crying - on her hip, every nerve singing with tension as he came closer, tears in his eyes. “Tae-rin…” she said, extending a hand, even as she glanced back behind her for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. Her spear still stood in the corner, point wrapped in cloth, but it was too far away, and he was between her and it.

“You’re a liar!” he shouted. He gritted his teeth. “Is this what you’ve been hiding from me? Is Imin in on it too….?” He raised the knife. “Is this a plot against the Wind Tribe, by dark spirits? What do they want?” he waved the knife. “Answer me!”

And that was when Joona lost her temper. “You’re _wrong!_ ” she said, over Ara’s crying, raising her head proudly. “Yes, there is something I shouldn’t have hidden from you. But evil spirits? Do you really think that of me?” she glared at him. “I carry the blood of Ryokuryuu in my veins! Our daughter has inherited the ancient power of the gods!”

For a moment he just gaped, lowering his knife slightly. But then he laughed; a painful, slightly hysterical laugh, devoid of humour. “The gods?” he hissed. “The gods haven’t helped any of us in thousands of years! All the priests of the temple at Kuuto are charlatans, in it only for their own gain!” he glared at her. “But evil spirits…. now, they _do_ walk the world in this age.” His eyes were fixed on Ara, shining with fear and anger. “Why, they even live among us…”

Everything happened very fast then. Joona was still holding Ara, who was screaming in her arms now, as Tae-rin lunged at them both with the blade, glinting in the light of the half-moon that was rising in the sky outside. Whether he was aiming for mother or daughter, Joona could not say; she didn’t even think so far, only saw the glint of steel and acted. She dropped low, placing Ara gentle in the cradle behind her, then rose and pivoted on one foot and used the momentum to land a flying kick to his chest.

_(There may not be as much force behind her kicks as there was So-min’s – and now least of all - but hadn’t the two of them learned to fight together? She could at least use the tools that were her inheritance, even if she had not the power herself.)_

She swallowed, gritting her teeth as she sent Tae-rin sprawling backwards, knocking the table and the basin over with a resounding crash. Most importantly, the knife flew out of his hand, hitting the wall with a clatter.

Not for long, though. She watched warily, as Tae-rin picked himself up, cutting his hand a little as he scrabbled for the knife again. A drop of blood rolled down his forehead from a cut at his hairline where he had fallen on the broken shards of the basin. There were tears on Joona’s own face now, and she was breathing hard. She knew with painful dread how weak she still was. She didn’t want to fight him. The sight of his face - usually filled with love, now twisted with horror and betrayal - threatening to crack her own heart in two.

But she knew that if there was the need for it, she could still fight to defend herself.

No, not herself; she had to defend her child. She squared her shoulders, holding out her arms to physically block the cradle behind her, where Ara was still crying.

Her heart was in her throat as she stared at Tae-rin, already picking himself up; he looked as though he had the breath knocked out of him, and he clutched his side - a broken rib? - but in the other hand he still gripped the knife. “Demon! Spirit!” he shouted, rushing at Joona, and Ara’s cradle. “What did you do with my real daughter? Was this your plan all along?”

This time, Joona did not have time to kick him; this time, the knife was too close to her child, her mind too blank, and she barely knew what she was doing until she had done it. She cried out in anger as she felt herself grasp the knife hilt with both hands - slipping with sweat against his skin - and turn it back, making his wrist click horribly, then felt the knife’s blade sink into him, stabbing through flesh.

It was a meticulously-sharpened hunting knife as long as her forearm, and if nothing else, her grip was sure.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as the momentum of Tae-rin’s own charge at her drove it deep into his solar plexus. For a moment, his eyes went wide, so wide that Joona could see the whites all around them as she looked up; then, she felt hot blood spurt, spilling out over her hand, splashing onto Ara’s blankets behind her.

A moment later, Tae-rin crumpled to his knees, gasping, as Joona twisted the knife free; she let him fall, grasping at the wound ineffectually, even as blood poured between his fingers. Suddenly she felt weak with shock herself, a harsh roaring rising in her ears. Her daughter’s crying felt distant, as though she were in a different room. Joona felt dreamlike, detached from her own body as she watched Tae-rin in his death throes on the floor, standing above him still holding a knife that dripped blood into the spreading, dark pool beneath him, soaking into the matting and the stones beneath.

She could only watch as he tried to speak, reaching out to her with hands soaked with blood. But the words were nothing but bubbles of dark crimson at his lips. She must have punctured a lung, she thought dazedly, as though staring in on the scene as a neutral observer.

She had no sense of time, so she did not know how long it took him to die.

But die he did; once he had gasped out his last breath and fallen on his face in the puddle of blood, that seemed to pull Joona from her shocked reverie. Suddenly, every sound was too loud, her situation far too immediate; she dropped the knife in horror, with a clatter that made her flinch violently.

Quickly, she lifted Ara, turning her face away from the bloody scene; _no child needs to see something like this_ , Joona thought, _even if Ara was so young that she’d never remember it_. She felt a stab of guilt. _No child deserves a mother that would do something like this either, yet here they were_.

But then again, if others thought like Tae-rin, Joona realised next, then surely she was all that Ara had to keep her safe.

She hushed Ara, bouncing her and singing softly as she thought quickly, considering what was to be done about her situation.  

After a moment of deliberation that nevertheless felt like an hour as she strained her ears for the sound of someone at the door, she quickly righted the table, went to the cradle and laid Ara in it once more. Then she wiped the blood staining her hands off on the sheet, pacing restlessly about the room.

Practical things, immediate things; anything to avoid the guilt. She didn’t look at Tae-rin – no, the body – on the floor, for she knew if she did, she knew she would break apart.

And she couldn’t afford to do that.  

Joona resisted the urge to run her fingers through her hair out of nervous habit, trying to think practically. No further than her immediate situation. Several things were apparent to her. Any moment someone could come through the door and find her with like this, and if that happened both she and Ara would be doomed for sure; Tae-rin was someone of consequence, the son of a general, and Joona was…. well, no one at all. It would be immediately obvious what had happened, and she would be put to death for his murder for certain.

Or it might be even worse than that she thought, looking at Ara. Joona didn’t know what rumours might be swirling around at this very moment about demons and evil spirits, but she knew she didn’t want to risk staying to find out; who knew what they would do to Ara, if Tae-rin had reacted to his own daughter so.

It was clear to Joona that she had to leave, and as soon as possible. She pulled on her cloak and then her boots – for the first time in so long - trying to still the trembling in her fingers as she wiped her knife on her trousers, took the sheath from Tae-rin – no, his corpse, and that was her doing – sheathed it and stuck it through her belt.

Its familiar weight at her hip was not as comforting as it would once have been.

Her old pack and spear were still sitting in a corner, dusty and unused these last months, but now she hurriedly stuffed everything she could into her bag. Then, after a moment, she took some of it out; blankets and clothes could be replaced, but speed would save them. Finally she picked up Ara, swaddled her in a blood-spotted blanket and her old scarf, the warmest one she had from her travels. She made a sort of side sling out of torn strips of the sheet, and after checking that it would hold, Joona picked up her child and stood for a moment, surrounded by the scene of bloody carnage, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.

She stared at the body on the floor for a long moment. Tae-rin lay on side, hands reaching forward as though grasping in twisting agony, eyes wide and blank. The sight was like a dagger twisting in Joona’s own chest, guilt threatening to break her already.

Maybe he hadn’t really been so wrong in calling her a monster, a demon.

She shook herself. No, she must not think like that; she must think of Ara, and her welfare first and foremost, and dwelling on her guilt would not help her daughter’s safety.

Still, she leaned down and gently closed Tae-rin’s eyes, a last tender, brushing touch.  

Then she went to the window and clambered out, into the night.

From the window it was just a short drop to the wallwalk, and Joona landed on her feet, carefully ducking out of the sight of the patrolling guards. She was glad her spear was still wrapped in cloth as she didn’t want it to catch the light of the moon, but it still made her nervous to have an extra step to defending herself. Ara whimpered in her sling and Joona held her close and winced, hoping against hope that the guards would take it for just the whistling of the wind.    

Keeping low, she ran along the wallwalk, slipping down the stairs and out of the little postern gate at one side of the gatehouse, all the while dreading the feeling of an arrow in her back from the arrow slits that presided over all from above.

Yet none came. She came out on open ground - tussocky grass, rippling in the night wind and lit silver by the moon – and she had not gotten very far when she heard the scream, ripping through the still night air from high above.

She cursed, hushing Ara quickly; so someone had entered the room at last, and found the bloody scene. Joona increased her speed, though it was hard going on the lumpy terrain; they would be after her now, and if they caught her here they would kill her for certain.

She was still within bowshot of the fort too, so she ran in zigzags even though it slowed her down. It proved justified when the first arrow came singing down towards her, landing in the grass at her feet. Another she deflected with the point of her spear, the cloth binding coming loose as the bolt clanged against the metal, striking sparks.

She looked up for a moment, and hope briefly bloomed in her heart. She was almost out of range, and there was tree cover ahead, the cherry tree grove whose pale pink blossoms she had had watched come out from the castle walls as spring had first flowered, when she was heavily pregnant and filled with fear. Tae-rin had come to her then, looped his arms around her waist, touched the swell of her belly and whispered words of reassurance in her ears.

And back then, for her part, Joona had pretended that those words had been enough to sooth the fear that would not let her rest.

After all, she had so _wanted_ to believe him back then.

She had always known better though, and apparently she had been right.

It all seemed so long ago now, on this night of bloody horror, but now the cherry trees might well be her salvation, and Ara’s. She ran, in a straight line now, throwing caution to the winds in favour of speed as another arrow narrowly missed her. _The trees were further away tha_ _n_ _they had seemed from the top of the hill, and surely she_ _must_ _be out of bowshot now, she had to be…._

She cried out at the streak of something shining moving at speed past her face from behind, almost losing her footing but managing to steady herself by bracing the spike at the end of her spear in the soft ground. It was a moment later when she felt the burst of blinding pain in the side of her head, accompanied by a wash of something hot down her cheek, that she realised an arrow had clipped the side of her head, leaving a great, deep gash that ran through her hair and across her temple. Panic started to set in then, but it only spurred her on, running now in great bounds, clutching Ara closer that ever; Ara was all that mattered, and Joona had to stay alive for her, she had to… she stumbled to her knees once, twice, but picked herself up and carried on, holding her daughter’s head, ready to curl around her and sacrifice her own life for Ara’s at any moment, if it came to it.

The trees still looked very far away in the moonlight, but she was out of bowshot now, she was sure of it; a wave of dizziness swept over her, pain beginning to radiate from the cut on the side of her head, and she leaned forward, pressing her chin to the top of her daughter’s head and gritting her teeth. She was still weak, and painfully aware of it. If they got out of this alive, then there would be time to heal, but now… Joona laid a hand flat on the ground to steady herself, as the world spun, her breath spiking painfully in her chest.

And that was when she felt it.

A rumbling in the ground, faint but present. It might have been the sound of distant thunder or even an earthquake, but Joona knew better, with a sudden, horrible certainty. Her fears were confirmed as she looked back behind her at the hillfort.

Horse archers. A company of them, issuing from the main gate and spreading out into a line to better sweep the area. That was when Joona knew there was no hope. They would surround her, she had no chance of outrunning them on flat ground.

Or did she? She looked beyond, to the trees once more. She had a headstart on them, so maybe, just _maybe_ , she could make it before they were within bowshot.

It was something, at least.

Sparing not a moment more, Joona hauled herself to her feet again and began to run again, pell-mell across the grass, looking only forward. The rumbling was growing closer even as her vision tunnelled, and very soon another arrow sang past her. Hot blood was streaming down her cheek from the cut on her temple, and she could taste its iron tang as it flowed into the corner of her mouth.

It was no good, she would never make it in time…. the cover of the trees seemed to grow even further away with every step, her body feeling heavy, her head stuffed with sawdust.

“I’m sorry, Ara” she sobbed, between breaths, until she no longer had the air in her lungs for words.

Suddenly, another sound cut through her awareness, a whistle, too high and sharp to be made by any creature of the forest night. And then a moment later, the rumbling in the ground was redoubled, but…. _could she be wrong? Had she somehow become turned around as she ran?_ Joona caught her breath. It seemed to be coming from in _front_ of her, between Joona and the line of trees. She blinked blood from her eye in disbelief; sure enough, there were the Wind Tribe cavalry, already coming to circle around her from behind, but closer, up ahead of her were more riders – hooded and cloaked - who definitely didn’t look like Wind Tribe. For one thing, they were issuing from out of the forest itself, picking their way through the undergrowth and breaking into a canter, then a run, when they reached the plain.

Straight towards her.

 _No!_ Joona wanted to cry out. _Spare my child! Please!_ But she was already sinking to her knees, her strength gone even as her consciousness fled.

The last thing she felt was herself being pulled onto a horse, arms about her and the rush of the cold night wind against her face, before she fell into blackness once more.

* * *

 

 

The covered wagon was still for the night and it was very dark, but for the little golden sphere of light from a rush taper in its holder, as the two people sat in watchful silence over the woman lying still on a bed of furs between them. Her long, curling hair – willow grey-green, with a thick green streak though it, a mass of curls – was still matted with blood in places, but there was a fresh, clean bandage around her head.

One of the watchers – a woman in a straw hat with a wide brim pulled over her face – held a baby in her arms.

The silence was broken as the man spoke abruptly.

“Give the child to me for a moment, Miju.”

Miju raised her head, almost, but not quite, a flinch of a motion. For a moment, it seemed as though she might protest, but he merely raised an eyebrow at her, and she mutely complied.

The baby woke as she was passed into his arms, wide purple eyes staring up at him as Miju watched.

The man stared down impassively at the child, undoing the blood-stained blankets that swaddled her, looking within, then folding them quickly back around her with a brisk nod.

He raised his head, a slow, wide smile spreading across his face. “Well, my dear. I know we set out only to find her -” he nodded at the woman lying on the floor, “ - but we seem to have found a little more than we expected. Did I not tell you the gods would smile upon our cause?”

She nodded, again silently, her eyes not leaving the child in his arms. Many expressions flitted across her features in the lamplight.

She was glad of the wide brim of her hat, which partially hid her face from him.

But still, he tilted his head. “You don’t seem pleased, Miju.”

“I…. I am” she managed. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I am pleased, that you have achieved - ”

His smile was dangerously sweet. “I believe you mean _we_ , my dear. We did this together. The gods have chosen us, you and me, as well as those who follow us.”

“Ah… yes, _we_ ” she said, swallowing her displeasure. “B-but….”

He stroked the child’s head, an almost mechanical gesture. “But what?”

“What about….” she hesitated.

“What about the boy?” he said, and when she started, he laughed, a surprisingly joyous, ringing sound. “I don’t need the gods to tell me what you are thinking, Miju. Besides, they concern themselves with more important things.”

She frowned. “Well? What about him? What about So-min?”

The man dropped his eyes, pulling off his hat and raking his free hand through wiry dark green hair. “You do me a disservice, Miju” he said, quiet and silken. “You act as though I have forgotten him. But he is still our other main objective. This one” he indicated the baby in his arms “is just a gift unlooked for. She proves to all the doubters that may be amongst us…” he looked at her pointedly, “…that our cause is just and right.” He bared his teeth, staring up at the canvas-draped ceiling, his voice going hard as steel. “But don’t ever think I have forgotten what was taken from me. I will have my due, Miju.”

She looked doubtful, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “So…. the plan is still to go after So-min” she said, cautiously.

He nodded, indicating the unconscious woman lying between them. “We have their daughter now. It’s a fair exchange, don’t you think? Even for traitors.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

He looked up at her sharply, coming close to her face. “Oh? Again with the doubts, Miju?”

She looked away, but it was too late. He did not move, but his words were like daggers in the still air. “ _Coward_. Have you no pride?”

“Ah….”

He held the child close in his arms, not giving her time to reply but glaring at her in disgust. “Do you forget so quickly Miju? Did you forget how we were betrayed? What they took from us?”

“No!” she said. “No! I remember everything.”

“Then you understand that it is my destiny to keep the Ryokuryuu, and now his successor too -” he lifted the child, his voice rising “- _in their just place in this world_.”

She narrowed her eyes, raising her head so that the light fell for the first time on her face. “His name is So-min” she said tightly. “And by the gods, Ki-nam, he is our _son_.” He flinched almost imperceptibly at that word, and she laughed bitterly, mocking his tone. “ _Or do you forget so quickly_?”

Ki-nam glared back at her, and for a moment their eyes met, something cold running between the two of them. “I for one will _never_ forget that” he said at last, voice like sharpened steel. He raised his eyes to the ceiling once more. “And that, Miju, is exactly why we are going to _get him back_.”


	9. Wanderers

Joona woke to redness, and a swaying, rattling motion. Her eyes flickered open, and immediately she sat up, disorientated and nauseous as the room around her - small, confined, and apparently draped in some sort of heavy red cloth - swam into focus. She was in some kind of covered wagon, she thought from the motion, though she had no idea how she had come to be there.

Not that she could even see much of it. She blinked desperately; at first thought she had gone blind in her right eye, but then when she raised her hand to her face it was met with a thick pad of bandages, swathing one side of her head and wrapping around. A few locks of her loose hair swung forward; it was still stained rusty red with traces of dried blood.

 _An arrow, just skimming the side of her head, a deep cut to her_ _right_ _temple, hot blood washing down_ _the_ _side of her face_ … she remembered what had happened then. Or at least enough of it to know what was missing.

“Ara!” she shouted, voice tearing in alarm as she tried to sit up. “Where’s my baby?”

“Hush, my child, she’s right here” came a voice, from slightly behind her and to one side, where Joona’s bandages created a large blind spot. She twisted and craned her neck - the very motion sending spasms of pain through aching muscles and what must be a thousand bruises - and saw a woman sitting cross-legged beside the pile of furs and blankets in which Joona lay. In her arms was Ara; the woman was feeding her with milk-soaked cloth from a little ceramic bottle, the child sucking happily as it was offered to her.

Joona nearly cried with relief. But she was still wary. “Who are you? And where am I?”

“Shhh. You’re with friends” said the woman, softly. She was middle-aged and a little stocky - in the same soft way that Joona’s mother was, she remembered with a pang - her hair neatly pinned up, hidden beneath a hat with a wide brim, made of woven reeds. It was hard to see her eyes from under it, but Joona could see her mouth at least, and she was smiling.

“In fact” the woman continued, her smile widening, “you can think of us like your family. We’re all family here, you’ll find.”

Joona frowned, unsure of what to make of that. “Who are you?”

“Ah…. no one in particular. We are wanderers….” said the woman, and then, seeing Joona’s face, “oh, you mean me! Well, how rude of me. My name is Miju.”

“….I’m Joona” she said distractedly. She looked around, wishing she could look out of the wagon to the countryside passing by; it was really very close and cramped in here, and the feeling of being carried she knew not where was not a pleasant one. “Mistress Miju…. ah… where are we going?”

“Oh, here and there” said Miju. When Joona lifted a questioning eyebrow, she smiled wryly, raising her head so that she could meet Joona’s eye from under the brim of her hat. “Away from the Wind Tribe lands, for a start. They’ve sent soldiers out looking for the one who murdered the general’s son… it’s a terrible ruckus.” She smiled again, knowingly. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

Joona swallowed, to dispel the sensation that her throat was closing up. “Um. Can’t say I do. I’m just a traveller.”

“You’re a terrible liar, is what you are” said Miju, gently stilling Joona’s alarmed exclamation with a raised hand. “Don’t worry, no one amongst our people will turn you in. Quite the opposite in fact! But you’ll have to stay hidden with us for the time being. Luckily, we are able to pass as a party of merchants quite easily when we need to.”

Joona frowned. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why? Why not? You’re such a young thing all alone and in need, with a child…. how could we leave you to your fate?” she sighed, stroking Ara’s head. “Such a pretty child, too. I know that my husband will be pleased to meet both of you.”

Joona wondered if this woman had seen Ara’s dragon leg yet. _After Tae-rin_ … that thought sent a jolt of pain and guilt through her. She had hardly had time to grieve, so busy was she surviving, _but now_ …

 _Now_ , she needed to carry on surviving. She shook her head, realising that she had blanked out for a moment.

“…Husband?” she asked, doubtful.

“Yes. He is the head of our people…” Miju laughed a little. “Well, in a manner of speaking. I manage the daily affairs of our little clan, but he is the one who - ”

Miju broke off, as Ara started to fuss, hands grasping. “Here, let me” said Joona, reaching for her child. But Miju stopped her.

“No, dear, you’re still not strong enough” said Miju, gently but firmly pushing Joona back with her free hand. She tried to resist - she knew if she was holding Ara again in her own arms, she might at least feel a little less anxious about all of this - but found she didn’t have the strength.

“Rest” said Miju. She pulled a flask from a loop at her belt, held it up to Joona’s lips. “Here. Drink this.”

“….What is it?”

“It’s medicine. It’ll help you to heal.”

Joona frowned, turning her head away; the stuff smelled sharp and herbal, making her head spin. But even as she did so, she felt a stab of pain in the side of her face, where he wound was.

“Come on, dear” said Miju, holding her chin in a surprisingly strong grip. “We must all accept things we don’t like the taste of, once in a while. How will you get strong enough to keep your little girl safe if you don’t take your medicine?”

Miju was right, Joona had to concede. She did feel bruised and battered and somehow fuzzy in the head, the skin around where he wound was feeling hot and tight, even under the bandages.

She looked up at Miju one last time and let the woman tilt her head back, holding the leather flask to her lips.

For a moment, Joona was reminded powerfully of when she and So-min had fallen sick as children, one winter; her mother had fussed, and Jae-gyu had fussed in her own characteristically practical way, which in this case involved going immediately to the apothocary and buying their medicine; In-na had been the one who had wiped away their tears at having to swallow down the vile stuff.

The taste was similar now, strange, lingering and bitter. Maybe that had been what reminded Joona of her mother suddenly; it couldn’t have been Miju herself, a stranger that Joona knew she couldn’t really trust.

And yet, she found, there were tears in her eyes. She so desperately wanted to trust Miju, to trust _anyone_.

 _But hadn’t she tried that? She had trusted Tae-rin, and this was where it had gotten her_ …

Perhaps the pain that thought invoked was what kept her from noticing the hot numbness in her limbs, before it was too late.

It started in her extremities, spreading upwards as her vision began to blur. That was when she knew something was wrong, as her eyes began to lose focus, her hearing fading out. The last thing she heard before the darkness came was her own voice, crying out for her daughter in words too distorted to be understood, and probably too weak to be heard at all besides.  

When she woke the motion of the wagon had stopped, and her head felt hazy; she had a splitting headache and nausea and disorientation crowded in at her.

She blinked, pushing the heal of her hand over her exposed eye and trying to remember exactly what had happened. The last thing Joona remembered was being helped to drink from a flask, a strange bitter liquid which had left an unpleasant taste at the back of her mouth even now. She blinked. How strong a drug had the woman given her? Ah, yes, there had been a woman there…. what was her name? Miju. And she had been holding Ara.

 _Ara_. At that thought, Joona twisted her body around, sore muscles protesting. But there was no one there. Panic set in then; especially when Joona realised she was dressed only in a light tunic and trousers under the piled furs, and her pack and weapons were nowhere in sight.

She knew she would feel better knowing she could defend herself, and, more importantly, defend Ara.

She stood up - still a little unsteady on her feet, bracing herself against the floor of the wagon until she got her balance - and untied the flap of cloth, her eyes met with the dim light of a rainy afternoon, which was nevertheless sudden and blinding.

A moment later when she had recovered a little, she stepped down onto the ground, feeling the wet earth and grass cold against her bare feet.    

It was raining, a sort of fine, misty drizzle that turned everything to grey. She was in some sort of camp she saw; there were many wagons just like the one she had woken in, and horses munched placidly at the scrubby grass in the forest clearing. There were tents and cookfires covered by cloth canopies. All the people she saw were wearing cloaks or hoods or hats like Miju’s, against the rain Joona assumed.

Like Miju, the adults quickly lowered their gazes as Joona passed.

Not the children though; as she passed through, a gaggle of them stared at her from underneath rain hats and from the doors of tents. Well, she was a stranger, she thought. Perhaps they too thought the sight of her moss-green-streaked, blood-stained hair strange. Either way, she paid them little heed, simply raising her bandaged head and walking proudly through.

What she needed, she knew, was to get to the chief of this clan. Miju had said he was her husband, and that he would be pleased to see Joona. But after being drugged, she was in even graver doubt about trusting Miju. She gritted her teeth, wishing she had her spear, just in case. She knew she would feel a lot better once Ara was back in her own arms, well-meaning though these people may be.

At the very least, it was not hard to tell which tent belonged to whoever was in charge here. The camp was arranged like a long corridor and at the end was a slightly larger tent with a pitched roof and several poles. That had to be it, she knew.

She hesitated for a moment outside; what did she think she was going to do? Just walk in there and demand to see Ara?

Well, why shouldn’t she? Besides, she knew, there wasn’t really much else she could do, at this point.

She balled her hands into fists at her sides. Just before she was about to fling open the flap, however, someone else did, from the inside.

“Joona?”

“Miju!”  

“Joona dear! Whatever are you doing up, hmm? Your wounds - “

“Where’s Ara?” she demanded. “Where’s my daughter!”

Miju folded her arms, placing herself in front of the tent flap so that she obscured what was within. There was a dagger as long as Joona’s forearm at her belt, she couldn’t help but notice now. “Now, now, she’s quite safe - ”

“Where? Where is she?”

“She’s here. Please, enter, child.”

The new voice made them both start; it had come from within the tent. Frowning, Miju hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping aside to let Joona pass.

Inside a burner was lit, keeping the tent warm and casting a soft, golden glow over the scene in front of her. A man sat at a low trestle table, cradling a baby in his arms.

“Ara!” gasped Joona, relief flooding her once again. But she felt a hand on her arm, even as she tried to run forward; Miju was holding her back.

Joona tried to struggle a little, but Miju’s grip only grew tighter as the tent flap fell closed behind them. At that same moment, the man looked up. “Ah” he said, with a blindingly white smile that, she thought, was just a little too wide, “here you are at last. I’ve been longing to meet you, Joona. And your daughter too.”

Joona’s brow furrowed, as she scrutinised the man. He was perhaps in his early forties, and he wore a strange hat of stiffened, folded cloth. Something about it suggested to her that he might be a priest; she tried to recall why she thought so. Ah yes; she vaguely remembered seeing a man play a drunken, lecherous priest in a group of itinerant players wear something like that once, back when So-min and she had been children and used to challenge each other to slip away from the village to see such bawdy plays, on the rare occasions they passed by.

She put the memory from her mind. Could this man really be a priest? Joona had no idea if that was what priests usually wore, as her village hadn’t had one since the time when her great aunt was Ryokuryuu, her father’s predecessor.

She frowned, scrutinising the man again. There was something on the table in front of him; an open book? She caught her breath as she suddenly recognised it. It was _her_ book; her very own _Tales of King Hiryuu and the Four Dragon Warriors_ , that had belonged to her father, that she had carried with her all this way.

Had he been reading? Did he know about Ara? Surely Miju must know by now, and she would have told him for sure…. Joona’s eyes darted about the room and caught another familiar sight; there was her own spear, propped against a wooden chest in one corner.  

She’d feel safer if she could only reach it. She began to edge around the table. His eyes immediately went to the spear and then back to Joona’s, with a rather reproachful look. It crinkled up his eyes with a warm, but rather long-suffering smile, like a parent gently scolding a beloved child.

“Now, now” he said. “We don’t want any of that, do we? We can’t be already looking to our weapons, when we’ve only just met!” he tilted his head. “That would be very impolite, wouldn’t you agree Miss Joona?”

Joona glared at him, folding her arms. “Tell me what you want from me. Then I’ll take my daughter and leave… why did your people come and save us, anyway?”

“Why, you needed saving, of course!”

She glared, something prickling up her spine. It was something about the way he was holding Ara, his arms just a little too tight. “Was that the only reason?”

“Ah! But you wound me! Do I look like that kind of person who wouldn’t save a mother and child out of charity alone?”

“I don’t know _what_ kind of person you are, yet” said Joona, shortly.  

“Ah, of course, my apologies” he said, giving her a rather laconic smile. He stood and bowed briefly, Ara still held in the circle of his arms. “My name is Ki-nam. I am the head of this wandering clan of exiles.”

Joona raised an eyebrow. Both this man and his wife seemed to have a way with speaking in fine words but nevertheless revealing as little as possible.

“Why do you care about my daughter?”

He stared at her with inscrutable eyes – a sort of grey-purple colour she couldn’t put a name to, surprisingly pale against his sun-tanned, weathered skin - for a while. Then he smiled, and those eyes crinkled up at the corners once more, a little sadly. “Miju and I had a child once” he said, as Miju laid her hand on his shoulder. “A baby boy. But the gods did not will it; he was… ah…. taken away from us, before he reached his first birthday.”

“I’m sorry” said Joona, and meant it. She could only imagine how that would feel, to lose a child. She had already come closer than she ever wanted to.

Still, something about the look in his eye – too bright, almost _hungry_ – made her extremely uncomfortable. “But… forgive me…. what does my daughter have to do with your son?”

Ki-nam smiled again, though he didn’t seem to be thinking of the present moment at all. It was not an entirely nice smile either, thought Joona. Again, she began to edge around the side of the table, to where she knew her spear was. “A mere passing resemblance, some might say” he said, waving a hand. “But I do not think so. I believe that the gods would do such a thing for no reason. Therefore - ”

“Ki-nam!” cried out Miju, clutching her husband’s shoulder in alarm. For several things had happened at once; first, Joona had shoved her hip hard into the wooden chest, sending her spear toppling sideways. She misjudged its fall though, and it slipped through her fingers, clumsy as she still was from the drug.

However, before she could drop to the floor and get it, the lid of the chest had come loose with the force of her blow, falling to the ground and revealing something glinting within.

Something metal, links, heavy steel chains…. and on their ends thick, well-made manacles. Some were the size of ankles and wrists - one even looked like it was meant for the throat - but there were many that were far smaller than would fit an adult man or woman. Joona stared at them for a stretched-out instant, puzzled, before the horrible realisation came.

They were too small to hold an adult captive, yes, but they would fit a child perfectly. They very smallest were almost the right size for a toddler, or even a baby….

Joona stared back at Ki-nam and Miju, horrified. “Who are you?” she whispered, hoarsely. “You’re monsters!”

She lunged for her spear on the ground then, but Miju was too quick for her, stabbing her dagger down into the matting and through to the earth below, exactly where Joona’s hand would have been, forcing her to pull it back. She scrambled up, only to see that Ki-nam had gotten to his feet too. “Monsters?” he spat, all smiles or flickers of laughter now gone from his face. “You call _us_ the monsters, do you?” He laughed again, but it was a humourless sound, his eyes darting from the book to the child in his arms. “No more games. Tell me….. what do you know of the village of the Ryokuryuu?” he laughed as her eyes widened. She had no idea how he knew about the village - could it really be the gods? - but she didn’t like the idea that he did one bit. “You ran away from it, didn’t you?” he continued. “You knew in your heart that it was a place of monsters, you wanted to be free - ”

“No!” shouted Joona. “That isn’t true!”

“And then you had a daughter who’s a monster herself, but you can never go back, never show your face there again.” He shook his head. “But there is only one thing to be done with monsters, as you must know, in your heart of hearts.” His voice had gone dangerously soft, as Joona leaned against the table, cut off from her weapon by the bulky wooden chest, the tangled steel chains still gleaming horribly in the dim light. Maybe if she had been able to get a grasp on one of the chains, she could use that as a weapon… but no, Miju was there with her knife, in the way.

“Do you know what it is, Joona?” Ki-nam continued. He looked down at Ara’s sleeping face. “Because your daughter will come to know it, one way or the other. Do you know what happens to monsters in this world?”

“Fuck you!” spat Joona. “ _You’re_ the monster!”

“You can shout and scream all you like, but the fact is… with monsters, we must fight against them to keep them from killing us. And if they are to be allowed to live, they must be chained down. It is the will of the gods, after all.”

Joona’s mouth dropped open; there were tears in her eyes. She tried to think, to think of anything she could do that would save Ara - if not herself - from these people…. but no, if she was dead, then her daughter would be at their mercy. She must survive too.

But they didn’t need to know that. “Take me instead” she blurted. “Give…. give my daughter to someone, and take me… kill me, if you want…”

Ki-nam rolled his eyes. “And what then, hmm? You’re little use to me.” He smiled again. “And none at all dead.”

“I am of use!” insisted Joona, trying not to think about the implications of that, so as to keep the quaver from her voice. “Alright…. I do know Ryokuryuu village. I admit it.” She licked her lips, mouth still dry. “I can… take you there. If that’s what you want? What… ah… what the gods are telling you to do.” She raised her hands. “You can capture all the monsters you want!” Silently, she apologised to So-min, even as she said the words.

Ki-nam inclined his head. “You know, you intrigue me, Joona” he said. She watched his eyes. He seemed unconcerned, but there was a glint there, something keen and sharp. “What would you do, hmm? What lengths would you go to?”

“I would…” _W_ _hat did he want?_ She couldn’t take her eyes off Ara in his arms. “I would show you the way to the village!”

He shook his head. “Not good enough.”

“I would help you get in undetected. It’s easy, you just go underneath the wooden boards!” she found herself saying. She looked him right in the eye. “I would help you to capture the Ryokuryuu. He knows me, he… ah…” the words tasted like poison in her mouth, making her want to sob out her violent disgust at even pretending to betray So-min. But she couldn’t cry, not now, for then the illusion would be ruined. “He trusts me! We grew up like siblings, but ah…” she cast around wildly. “We fought. That’s why I ran away.”

Ki-nam and Miju exchanged a look.

“It _is_ prophesied” said Miju, inclining her head. “The people will like the idea.”      

Ki-nam nodded slowly. “I daresay they will…” he turned to Joona, his mouth twisting into a smile. “Alright. But I give you your daughter when we get there, and not before.”

“No!” said Joona. “Give her to me now.”

“No” said Miju. “Ki-nam, she’s trying to trick us, she doesn’t really mean to - ah!”

Miju’s words had been cut off midsentence, as in a spli-second Joona dropped her pretense and rushed at her. Seeing that Miju had lowered her knife - even though it was still in her hand - had been all the chance she needed. Quick as a snake, she grabbed the knife handle and twisted, hearing a click from Miju’s wrist and a pained cry. She dropped the knife to the ground, reached into the chest and grasped a length of heavy chain. She looped it quickly around the woman’s throat from behind, pulling it just tight enough to make Miju gasp, fingers clutching at the chain ineffectually, but not enough to kill her. “Give me back my daughter” she hissed, at Ki-nam. “Or I’ll kill her.”

Miju whimpered, as Ki-nam’s hold on Ara tightened for a moment; she awoke in his arms, began to cry, but still the three stood there in silence, dragged on and on.

It was only then that Joona had a moment of doubt. Would Ki-nam let her kill Miju? Was he bluffing? Did he think that she wouldn’t have the strength to do it?

Or was he really the sort of man who would watch his wife die in front of him, if it meant a chance at getting what he really wanted?

Just who was this man? And why did he want So-min and Ara?

“Ki…..nam……” wheezed Miju. “Pl-please….”

Then the moment snapped. “Fine.” Ki-nam hissed. “Take your daughter and get out of my sight.” He narrowed his eyes, as he placed Ara slowly on her back on the table, beside the book.

Cautiously, dragging Miju by the chain around her throat along with her, Joona edged over to the table and scooped up her daughter in her free arm, held securely against her hip. Immediately, Ara stopped crying and snuggled close to her, bunching Joona’s trailing hair in her tiny hands.

It was only then that she slowly released the chain, leaning down to pick up her spear and holding it at guard. As an afterthought, she picked up the book, slipping it in the front of her tunic; they didn’t deserve to own something of her father’s.

Ki-nam laughed at her wariness as she edged out. “Oh, did you think I wouldn’t keep my end of the bargain? Did you think I’d attack again on the way out?” He put an arm around Miju, who was looking reproachfully at him while rubbing the marks on her throat where the chain had bitten in. “Go then” he said, voice mocking. “Be free. But know that it comes at a cost. Wherever you go, wherever your daughter goes… I will be there.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing Ara has me to protect her” said Joona. “I’ll fight for her as long as I live!”

And with that, she turned around and ran out of the tent and into the rain.

She didn’t stop running until she was far, far outside the camp, exhausted, damp and shivering. She had run barefoot, and the soles of her feet - though tough and callused - were torn and bleeding, thanks to some rocks she had clambered over, the better to put the camp behind her.

She wished So-min was with her, and not only because of how he could travel great distances in a single, thrilling jump through the skies. The taste of the words she had said in desperation – though she hadn’t really meant them, and would have found some way out of her bargain – still bitter at the back of her throat.

She missed him, she realised now; more than ever. Either that, or she had finally let herself realise it then. She missed all of them, and wished from the bottom of her heart that she could see them all again, throw herself at their feet and beg for forgiveness.

But one part of what Ki-nam had said was at least true; she couldn’t go back now. So-min was dying, and it was Ara’s fault, and she had broken her ties with her mother, with Jae-gyu, with everyone she knew and everyone she loved.

There was also the fact that now she had both the Wind Tribe soldiers and Ki-nam’s people - in all probability - on her trail. She couldn’t bring that on the village. She wouldn’t do that to them, on top of everything else she’d done.

No; she really was alone in this, alone with all her mistakes.  

Or perhaps not quite alone. She held onto Ara, the only person left to her in the world. Joona rocked her, calming her, offering her a little milk from her breast, but even that was drying up now. Joona was too starved herself, too worn through, and soon it would become dangerous.

She sighed, getting to her weary feet and casting around for some shelter, food and water, and even, if she could get it, something dry with which she could make a fire. Of her possessions, she had lost everything but her spear, and her book. But she had her daughter, and that was all that mattered to her in the world, right now.

It would have to be enough. She realised that she had better get used to this; this was the path she had made for herself.

Joona clutched her daughter to her side, squared her shoulders, and got to work.

* * *

 

Though So-min had set out to find Ara, it was her that found him, in the end.

He sensed her presence before he saw her. He should have been annoyed at her for running off, he knew, but when he had returned at dawn, and he and Jae-gyu and In-na had discovered Ara was gone, he had felt nothing but fear. He saw it in their eyes too; it was the fear that this would be like Joona all over again, that something had happened and she would never return, a sense of bleak forboding mixing horribly with guilt.

Once he had calmed down though, he had been able to track Ara relatively easily by the sense of her presence. By the time morning had worn into afternoon and he had felt she was near, he felt nothing but a profound sense of relief.

He landed on the road, folding his arms with a sigh, suddenly hit with an intense sense of memory, of their first meeting. So much had happened since then; it had only been four short months, but he was hardly the person he had been. “I know you’re following me, kid” he said with a weary sigh, looking right where he sensed her presence was by the side of the road.

He watched as her bright green head popped up from the ditch beside the road. She sniffed. “ ‘m sorry” she mumbled.

“Don’t be” he said dryly. “Everyone runs away from home sometimes.” The gods only knew he had spent the last decade doing just that. “That goes double for you and I.”

Ara mumbled something indistinct.

“What?”

She raised her head. “I said… sorry I came back to you.”

He blinked. “ _What?_ ”

And then, to his surprise, she burst into sudden tears. “I didn’t want you to have to see me every day and be sad about Mama!” she blurted. The words came all in a rush. “I wanted to go away, somewhere where you wouldn’t have to think about all the people who aren’t there anymore…”

On impulse, he knelt down so that he was at her level, pulling her up and into a rather awkward hug. He felt rather taken aback, and he stroked her hair awkwardly. “Kid, is _that_ what you think?”

She sounded uncertain, but her small hand curled tentatively in his hair as he hugged her. “Mm-hmm? I guess…”  

He drew back, looked into her face; it was only then that he realised that she had clearly been crying for some time, eyes still puffy and red. A renewed wave of guilt rushed through him then; when he had run away earlier, he had been thinking only of himself, his own grief for Joona. It had all been dredged up from the depths of his past at once, along with the final confirmation that he would never seen her again in this world. But Ara had also lost her mother, and seeing So-min like this must surely have hurt her. It was his fault; he was the one she had gone to after Joona was killed, he was the one she had trusted from the beginning, however inexplicable that was.

He looked into her eyes; the same shade of purple as they had always been, a common colour in the village. It had been the exact colour of Joona’s eyes too, he suddenly realised, and now he wondered why he had never seen the resemblance in her face before. As he looked though, she curled her small hand tentatively in his, squeezed his fingers tighter and her eyes began to fill once more. Cautiously, gently, he wiped away an incipient tear with his thumb, before it could roll down her face, but that only made her cry harder, flinging her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. “So-min” she sobbed into his tunic. “She’s never coming back, is she?”

So-min had been startled by her hug, but slowly he brought his arms up around her small body, holding her close; he was still kneeling by the side of the road. “No” he whispered at last, stroking her hair. “No, she isn’t.”

She sniffed, muttering something unintelligible.

He drew back, looking at her. “What?”

Uncharacteristically, she avoided his eye as she spoke, a curtain of windblown hair falling over her face as she stared at her feet. “You all hate me now. Because she was your friend, wasn’t she?” Ara looked up at him, and he saw at last the depth of the hurt in her eyes. “You and In-na and Jae-gyu, you all hate me.” She burst into tears once more, hiccuping as she tried to speak. “Because she was trying to save me when they killed her! Because I ran away!”

So-min drew in his breath. _Is that what she was afraid of?_ But yes, he realised now; that must be exactly how it seemed to the girl. She was so very young, after all.  

A moment later, he took in her appearance; travelling cloak, much too warm for a spring day like today, and heavy boots. She was not wearing the little leather shoulder bag this time, he noticed. Still, there could be no doubt she was dressed for a journey. “You were trying to run away?”

Ara looked down, guiltily. “I didn’t think you’d want me there anymore. You’re still angry with me, right?”

So-min gave an exasperated sigh, trying not to lose his temper. He was angry, but not for the reasons she thought; he was angry and hurt, angry at the world and at the cruel fates that had brought them to where they were. “By the gods, kid, you’re six years old. You can’t live on your own. And if you think we don’t want you there just because…..” he took a breath. _Because you’re the daughter of the sister I grieved, who died to protect you. Because you’re stealing my life day by day. Because you’re a reminder of everything that’s wrong with the life I’ve lived, all the chances I’ve missed, the family I pushed away_. “…Because of _that_ , then you’re wrong. In-na and Jae-gyu aren’t angry either. No one’s angry, and you’ve done nothing wrong.” He felt the words echo in the past; he could actually remember In-na telling him something similar, after Geon had died; would she say the same to Ara one day? Either way, apparently he at least had never taken that lesson to heart. He took a deep breath. “So please…. come home.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? You mean it?”    

He tutted. “You came to find me out here, didn’t you? You can’t have thought I really hated you.”

She blushed, looked down at her feet. “I never wanted you to see me. But I wanted to check you were okay. Mama wasn’t always okay.” She hesitated for a moment. “She wasn’t okay a lot, right before she died.”

So-min caught his breath, stared at her for a long moment. _Joona_ …. he frowned, feeling himself relent, despite himself. “No.”

Ara tilted her head. “Huh?”

“No” said So-min, clearing his throat. Slowly, carefully, he offered her a hand. She was a child: _she_ shouldn’t be the one checking on _him_. “I _wasn’t_ okay. You were right, kid. But…” he took a deep breath. “I… I can be. I think will be. From now on.” _For your sake, Ara_. “That’s a promise.”

Her eyes widened, then filled with hope, new tears glimmering there. She took his hand, jumped up beside him on the path, hugging his side. “Yay!” She sing-songed, almost back to the way she had been before. “Now, where are we going?”

So-min thought this through for a while; then he sighed. “We could go back to the village” he said. “Or we travel a little… if you don’t want to go back just yet…” he looked down at her, ruffled her hair. “Which would you rather?”

“I can….?” for a moment, she looked at him wonderingly, and he couldn’t help but smile, nod encouragingly. She had the dragon’s blood, So-min has realised all at once; she must yearn for freedom quite as much as any Ryokuryuu, and the impulse that had drawn So-min himself away from his home for all those years must also be present in Ara.

“I want to go back to the village” said Ara. “If…. um. If you want, So-min.”

His eyes widened; he had not expected that, much less for her to ask his opinion. What _did_ he want? It was a question he had hardly asked himself in many years of wandering outside the village. The reason he had set out in the first place had been ostensibly to look for Joona; it had been so much easier than thinking about where he really wanted to be. But now, things had changed. He thought perhaps if if he took the time to consider it, home and freedom might both mean something quite different to him than they had several months ago. Besides, he wanted to reassure Jae-gyu and In-na that they were both all right. “I…. yes” he said, holding her hand. “Yes, I think I want that too.”

It was a long way home, So-min soon realised; he had followed Ara a long way, without thinking, and it was only on the way back he noticed that there was a lot of ground to cover. He was tired now, especially from carrying Ara, and he had not eaten since the previous day. As evening came he heard her stomach growl too, and with a sigh he stopped, and found her some early berries in the forest. It wasn’t really enough, but he hadn’t brought his bow or anything with which to light a fire, in his haste as he left. So-min gave Ara most of the berries, with only a little teasing about her insufficient packing for her life on the run. That made her laugh a bit though, which made him smile too and forget about how hungry he was, at least slightly.

But even as they got started again on their journey home, the sun began to set, the colours splashing the sky soon fading to a dusky blue as the stars came out, clouds scudding between them in the freshening wind. So-min felt Ara shiver in his arms, and as soon as they next landed he set her on her feet, wrapping her cloak closer about her and taking her hands in his, trying to rub some warmth back into her small fingers. Not that it did much good; he had not brought his gloves with him either, so his own hands were just as cold as hers were.  

What they needed, he knew, was to stop, light a fire and make camp for the night. Perhaps catch a bird and cook it, for they could both do with something warm to eat. But he was so woefully unprepared, but still. These roads weren’t usually dangerous in the daytime, but at night they were sometimes used by bandits and robbers, and though he could defend against several of them with just his dagger and a well-timed kick in a pinch, he did not particularly want to have to put his fighting skill to the test just now.

He was still thinking this over, trying to decide what to do, when he saw the lights in the distance. By then, Ara had fallen asleep in his arms some time ago, her hair tickling his face in the evening breeze, when he turned and saw the road branch off to his right; some way along it, there was a cluster of glimmering points of orange light, as though of many torches.

Immediately, he was on guard; he knew that it was probably a party of merchants or travellers, as bandits would not travel with so many lights at night, nor with such a large party. There must be at least a hundred people there, maybe more. But one could never be too careful. Still, he had a little money in his belt pouch, and if they were good people he could surely buy Ara some more food, perhaps a night of sleep in a warm tent, out of the wind. And he was growing weary too, So-min had to admit, as well as hungry. He tired much more easily than he had used to even a year ago, especially when jumping high into the sky.

All of which meant he should approach, he decided, but with caution. There was no moon; that was good. They would likely not notice him until he was close enough to get a measure on what sort of people they were.

He pulled Ara’s cloak closer around her, making sure it covered her ears against the wind, then jumped into the sky.

He landed some distance away, just on the edge of the road. Carefully, he scrambled down into the ditch at its side, making his way towards the lights. He could fully make out a crowd of people now, dressed warmly against the night air in long, hooded cloaks; men, women, and children. Some carried spears, swords, or bows. They all seemed to be gathered around something; some kind of building? A hut perhaps? There was a man at the centre of it, speaking words So-min couldn’t make out as the breeze carried them away, but he could see now; the man wore a strange sort of folded cloth hat on his head, and was ducking into the little hut, setting something down on the ground then turning and raising his hands to the people who were watching him.

So-min squinted for a long while, trying to get some clue as to what was going on. Then caught his breath. Without the moon, he couldn’t see the man’s face - and the others were all turned away from him - but suddenly he knew where he was. He had not recognised it before, dark as it was. It gave him pause to think that he had somehow strayed off course tonight, as well as he knew these lands - he supposed he had been distracted - but now it was unmistakable. He had been here before several times, though he had purposely tried to avoid it if he could, for the memories it held. The most memorable occasion he had been here had been here, after all, was after Geon had died.  

The reason was, that this was the shrine of the Ryokuryuu, and the great tree beside it was the one festooned with the little rope and leather dragon figurines, tied to it with twine or ribbon each time a Ryokuryuu died and a new one took their place.

It was also his village’s main shrine, out here beyond the boundaries of the rice fields. There had been a priest once, he had heard, but not in So-min’s lifetime. Hardly anyone ever came here, except sometimes Elder Boseon’s children, sent to maintain the shrine and fix the worst of the damage due to the weather. Some few people left offerings he knew - In-na and Jae-gyu had used to occasionally in the wake of Geon’s death - but it was hardly a place that was frequented.

Especially at night. And especially by a group of strangers.

So-min frowned, holding Ara close to him and pulling up her hood tighter over her head, then his own. If they were at the shrine, then this was his business. And, he found, his curiosity had been piqued.

He stood up silently, jumping up out of the ditch at the side of the road and landing as quietly as he could, a little way away from the back of the crowd. He hoped no one would notice his presence; they might very well take him for a ghost, given where he was. But he needn’t have worried. Everyone was too engrossed in the voice of the man speaking to them. Pulling his hood down closer over his head - just like most everyone there, he realised - he joined the back of the crowd, Ara stirring in her sleep.

“Shh!” hissed a woman beside him. “Lord Ki-nam is talking.”

So-min bit back a sharp response; the woman had already turned back to the man – Lord Ki-nam, apparently - who was addressing the crowd.

“And so, my brothers and sisters, it is for me to tell you - on this day, of all days, the anniversary of my cruel exile - that together, we have grown strong. Cast from my home for the truth of my words, given to me by the very gods themselves, I stand before the united strength of our people. Not those usurping traitors - of our own noble blood, too! - but the true people, scattered across the land like leaves in the wind.” He laid a hand on his chest. “This the gods have told me. The time will be soon, my friends. How it will happen has not yet been revealed. But it is coming, our glorious triumph. Soon our exile will be ended, and we can live free, without hiding…” he touched his brow, just below where the hat hid his hair, “…we can reclaim the true destiny that is appointed to us, by our very blood. I hear it in the voices of the gods; I can feel it in the air.”

So-min shivered at that; even as the man had spoken those last words, the wind had picked up, lifting his cloak. Several of the hoods worn by those around So-min blew back in that gust of wind, and he saw that they, too, were all wearing hats of cloth or straw of one kind or another, men and women and even small children. He blinked; realising he had been staring, as spellbound as all the rest for just a moment. The man seemed to radiate strength in the light of the torches, his open face seamed with wrinkles, weatherbeaten as old leather, but smiling the most brilliant smile that So-min had seen in a long time.

Smiles seemed to sit naturally on his face, and his hands were raised as though to uplift the people he spoke to along with him. He was almost hard to take one’s eyes off. So-min frowned. The man had spoken of the gods…. did he mean the dragon gods? Could he really hear their voices? Many priests only claimed they could, but this man - Ki-nam, the woman had called him - seemed like he could be the real thing, if anyone was. Of course, it could all be part of his act, but still, there was something about him that invited trust, a kind of bluff straightforwardness combined with patrician benevolence, as though he were a father talking to a young child he loved very much.

Not that So-min knew much what having a father was really like. He shook his head, to clear it. True priest or not, there was still the matter of what right this man thought he had to come to the village’s shrine while speaking of ancestral blood right. Surely if anyone were to challenge him on that, it should be So-min.  

“Isn’t he a wonder?” said the woman at his side, once Ki-nam had finished speaking with a dramatic flourish, and the crowd had dispersed a little, beginning to set up camp on the flat, clear ground between the shrine and the road. “He’s really quite tireless at gathering us all, from all over the land. And soon it’ll be time, he says. I can’t wait, can you?”

So-min blinked. “Um. No, no I can’t” he said, deciding to go along with it. If she assumed he was one of them, then that might be all to the good. _Well…._ _p_ _erhaps_.

The woman must have seen his misgivings in his face. “Oh, what’s wrong dear?” she tutted. “You’re not a doubter, are you?”

So-min started a little. “No! Of course not! I would never doubt….”

But the woman only laughed, winking at him and touching his shoulder affectionately. “Happens to the best of us, sometimes. Don’t worry; if you speak to Ki-nam he will help with whatever is worrying you! He’s really very kind about it all, you know.”

“I will make sure to ask him then, thank you” said So-min, hoping she would leave him alone before he said something that would blow his cover.

He had no such luck though, as she pressed on, craning a little to try to look at Ara’s face under the hood. “Are you worried about the life your son…daughter…? will have, after? Because you shouldn’t be, you know. We are the ones destined to take back our homes, to help Lord Ki-nam reclaim his birthright and fix the wrongs inflicted on his home by the traitors.”

“Yes” said So-min vaguely. “True.”

The woman smiled at him again. “I’m Dawon, by the way.”

“Um” said So-min. He momentarily cursed himself for not coming up with a false name in advance. “I’m….” he faltered. “I’m Geon” he said quickly.

Had she seen through his scrambling for a name? So-min blinked, unsure whether he had imagined the look that had flitted across her face. He wasn’t sure he had read it properly, anyway. Sure enough, after a moment all trace of surprise and alarm was gone from Dawon’s round face; she pressed her lips together, and he was able to watch as she rearranged her face into a smile. “What a nice name. In the family, is it?”

So-min frowned. Something about her smile was strange, artificial; had he just made a grave mistake? “No” he said, trying to smile. He decided to play it safe. “Actually my mother and father just liked the name.”

“Ah, of course” said Dawon, her warm smile almost - if not quite - back. “And your…. child?”

“My niece” lied So-min, cradling Ara closer so that her hood would not fall back, for green hair would invite questions that he did not want to answer right now. _Especially if the name Geon was known here_. “Ah… Joona.”

Dawon smiled. “Another beautiful name.” She extended a hand, which So-min felt he had no choice but to take. “Now, shall I take you to speak to Lord Ki-nam?”


	10. They had lights inside their eyes

It was those first weeks on the run that were the hardest. Joona could do without most things in her pack, she soon realised, but the loss of her dagger, her bow and quiver, made hunting for food much harder. She would have been able to steal the food and gear she needed if she thought she could risk going near people, but she was too cautious for that; she knew she could trust no one but herself. Hadn’t she learned that lesson by now? Even if they didn’t turn her in to the Wind Tribe, then whispers of a strange green-haired woman with a child would surely make it to Ki-nam’s camp, sooner or later.

Still, she was worried about Ara. Her daughter had always been small for her age, and she was barely growing at all. It was hardly a surprise of course; Joona was half-starved herself, so feeding Ara was always a struggle.

It was a struggle that got easier though, rather than harder, as she worked to build up her strength and all she had lost. It was true that Joona could no longer work as a bodyguard with Ara to think of; but she had learned in her travelling before her fateful year with the Wind Tribe that she could make a little money gathering medicinal herbs and fruit she found in the forest and fish she caught in the streams, trading with passing parties of merchants travelling between cities.

She was much more careful now, always choosing those who looked as foreign as possible; it wouldn’t do to have herself recognised and dragged to Fuuga to answer for the killing of the general’s son. There had been several close calls, times when they had been at her very heels, and she had had to fight off her share of bounty hunters and opportunistic bandits.

And then there was the kindness of strangers. She had made a few friends here and there before, and loath as she was to bring peril down upon their heads in the form of her pursuers, there were nights when she was forced to call in favours, for Ara’s sake if not her own. 

There were even lovers, here and there; the sweet but rather obtuse son of a Sei merchant on the road; a wide-eyed farmer’s daughter a few years her junior, who looked up to Joona as worldly-wise, built her up and idolised her. She had never known she had a taste for being with a woman before, but it was gratifying to find she rather liked that too. Then there had been the middle-aged couple who lived in a house in the woods, who had taken her in, offered Ara a soft bed and a hot meal. Then they had offered to take Joona to their bed, and when she had accepted out of sheer curiosity, she had found she fit so well between them.

A few days of solace, of relative safety and love. She knew she should not trust so easily, but she found it hard to say no to such things, even now; she supposed it was a weakness she had.

To her surprise, they had insisted on paying her when she said she wanted to carry on her way. She had expected to feel at least a little wrong taking their money, but as it turned out, the only difference she felt was that she was slightly richer, and able to buy Ara new clothes at the nearest village.

They were her small indulgence, these affairs; they were a comfort for a time, but they would never become anything permanent. Joona was at least certain of that, and if someone hurt her or Ara, or wanted to know more of her past, or began to fall for her and tried to keep her there – there was never much danger of her falling for them - she would immediately slip away in the middle of the night. That was the rule, and she found it easy to keep with; Ara would always come first, and to keep her daughter safe and free she would sacrifice any number of entanglements.  

Besides, any pleasure she found in them paled into insignificance beside the joy she felt at seeing her daughter grow and flourish. And Ara did, against all odds; she grew taller every day, so that Joona could hardly keep track, let along keep her in clothes that fit. Joona read to her from the book of stories, taught her to read from it because it was the only thing they had to get them through dark nights on the road.

By the time she was four years old, Ara knew all the stories by heart. She knew, too, how she fitted into them. When Joona read to her, Ara seemed to accept her connection to the original four dragon warriors and King Hiryuu as though it were completely obvious. Her favourite game was to find a long stick - Joona wouldn’t let Ara touch her spear, she drew the line there, and besides it was far too long for her - and play at being the original Ryokuryuu from the story. She would spend hours happily jumping as high as she could - only about Joona’s head height at first, but that soon changed so she was able to just reach the treetops, then to clear them - and heroically fighting off hoards of imaginary foes for the sake of her imaginary king.

Joona could not help but smile at Ara’s games and her clear delight in her power, but it did make the ache in her chest worse; she missed So-min, and as Ara grew, Joona thought about him more every day.

One night, they were sitting by their little cookfire in the forest night, Ara starting to doze off in her lap while Joona idly stroked her hair.  

“Mama?” asked Ara sleepily. “What are the lights?”

Joona blinked. “Lights…? Which lights, little one?” she did not think Ara meant the fire, and there was no moon or stars tonight, the sky overcast.

“The ones when I close my eyes…” she demonstrated, screwing up her face in concentration, slightly ruined by her giggle as she peeked back at her mother with one eye.

Joona frowned, laying a quick hand on Ara’s brow to make sure she didn’t have a fever. “Well, I don’t know, my love” she said. “Tell me about them?”

“There’s a blue one! There were two of those! But one of them disappeared. There’s just one yellow, and it’s funny, more blurry than the others…. there was only one white one, until yesterday a new one appeared! That’s why I thought of it, just now. And then there’s the green one… just one, but that one moves around a lot, but… Mama?”

Joona closed her mouth, realising she had let out a little gasp. _The other dragon warriors?_ Ara was sensing the other dragon warriors, she had realised. She remembered So-min telling her about this once, but she had almost forgotten until now.

 _And if there was a green one, moving around, that meant_ ….

She blinked. _Just one?_ That meant the final confirmation, to what she supposed she had known in her heart all along; that her father really was dead, that all this… no. She closed her eyes, breathing in. As she sat beside her daughter in the light of the fire, she could not - would not - say it had all been in vain, despite everything. Despite how much it had cost, all her lost days, all the people she had hurt.

 _And that one green light_ …. So-min?

Joona smiled, feeling tears come unbidden to her eyes, as she stroked Ara’s hair. _It’s him. He’s alive, and strong and well, at least for the time being._

“….Are they the other dragons?”

Joona smiled, softly. “Yes, love. Yes they are. You’re all linked together, just like the story says.”

Ara blinked sleepily and nodded. “The other green one feels nice. That one feels the closest.”

Joona raised an eyebrow. “You mean…. he… the light, I mean…. is near here?”

Ara stuck out her bottom lip, considering. “Not close like that. Close like a friend. Close like… like you Mama, even when you have to go away.”

Joona felt a renewed pang of joy and sorrow. “Ara?”

“Yes, Mama?”

She swallowed. “That green light…. if ever anything happens to me, you follow that green light in your head. Okay? If ever I… have to go away….” she saw Ara’s expression. “Not that that’s going to happen! But… if it did. I want you to not stop until you’ve found that green light, understand? It’ll keep you safe.” If she had ever known So-min at all, she knew that he would do just that. It wasn’t in his nature to leave a scared child on her own in the world. And no matter how angry – justifiably, she reminded herself - he might be with Joona, he would surely never take it out on a little girl, even though she might be the reason for his death.

Ara nodded. “Okay.” She pressed her lips together, crossing her arms over her chest. “But Mama, nothing will happen to you… will it? You’re big and strong and you protect me! You always will!”

Joona could not help but smile, leaning forward and rubbing noses with Ara, so she squirmed and giggled. “Of course I will.”

* * *

 

So-min and Dawon found Ki-nam as he was returning from the trees by the road’s edge, carrying an armful of firewood. Though this man apparently held a great deal of power over his people, he seemed to work alongside the rest of them, So-min noted. Nor were his clothes particularly rich or elaborate compared to theirs; even less so, if anything. Ki-nam wore a simple robe of heavy, dark rough-spun material, and a thick cloak against the cold night air. His only concession to decoration was the cloth hat that covered his hair, which was a deep, dark purple, with a red trim that looked like it could be silk.

Dawon waved, running after him to catch up, with So-min at her heels. “Lord Ki-nam!”

He turned and smiled as they came towards him; that same open, warm smile. His face was lined but it suited him; his eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners.

“My dear Dawon” he said, laying a hand on her elbow. “What is the trouble?” He looked up at So-min. Ara was still sleeping in his arms, wrapped in her cloak. “Ah! Newcomers? We welcome you with open arms, my friends in exile, whether it is to stay for a night or to join our noble cause.”

“Ah…” said So-min, still rather perplexed. “Thank you…?”

“Lord Ki-nam” said Dawon, just as he was wondering whether to introduce himself properly. “This is… Geon, and his daughter Joona.” The slight, wide-eyed look she gave to Ki-nam at that removed any doubts So-min still had about Geon’s name – perhaps Joona’s too? - being known here. So-min kept his face carefully neutral. He knew Geon had travelled away from the village at times, as So-min himself had done, protected it from attack by bandits when needed…. but did that make these people friends or enemies? And what if it was Joona? What would that mean?

He would have to wait, he knew, watch their reactions. At the slightest sign of threat, he decided, he would get Ara out, for as much as it pained him he wasn’t sure whether he had to strength to defend her right now, exhausted as he was.

But there was no trace of hostility in Ki-nam’s face; he barely even seemed to acknowledge the obvious suspicion in Dawon’s voice, holding her gaze for only a brief moment. “Thank you Dawon. I will help our new friend find his way from here” he said. “Would you please inform my wife I will return soon? We shall of course join everyone else for dinner, by the cookfires.”

She nodded, hurrying off without another word.

But even as So-min watched her go, Ki-nam was bowing slightly to him, taking him by surprise. For one held in such high esteem, he really did seem to treat his people as equals. “It is wonderful to have you” said Ki-nam, face betraying nothing. “Welcome, Geon. You and your daughter will be safe here.”

“Here?” So-min said, interested. “Here….. in this clearing? By the shrine?”

Ki-nam laughed. “Well, yes, my friend… for tonight, at least. No reason to move far after coming all this way, you see? But come, you shouldn’t fear that the traitors in the village will discover us… we will be safe tonight. Also, we protect our own.” He smiled, inclining his head as though he expected So-min to read more from his words than their meaning conveyed. But So-min, for his part, was still completely at a loss.

As his silence carried on, Ki-nam cleared his throat. “You look as though you have travelled long and hard, newcomer. But do not worry; you and your daughter are with friends now.” Ki-nam smiled. “Know that whatever toil and grief you have endured, the gods willed that in the end, your path would carry you here.”

So-min frowned, biting back the impulse to tell this man that it wasn’t any god that had brought him and Ara here; in fact he rather resented the idea that he could not choose his own path. But then, he reasoned, it was not even entirely inaccurate to say that the gods had brought him here, given the nature of his power. And he didn’t want to correct Ki-nam, not when his curiosity had not yet been satisfied. “I am afraid” said So-min, “that though I am willing to learn, I do not yet ahh…. quite understand the truth of the destiny that has brought me here.” He smiled, ruefully. “The gods don’t talk to all of us as clearly as they do to you, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, of course” said Ki-nam. “You know, many of our people are scattered across the land… it is only natural that they should not know the call of the blood that draws them to us for what it is. But come.” he hefted the firewood on his hip with a smile. “Join us around the fire, I’ll introduce you to my wife, and your little girl can have a hot meal, and we can talk then. Destiny is a fearful thing, sometimes, but it always feels a little less so when surrounded by family.” He smiled. “For that is what we are, you know, my dear Geon. Now and forever. If you are of the blood, you are under my protection. And if you’re under my protection you are also under the eye of the gods, who smile down upon me. The great dragons in the sky are always watching over us all, you know, and we their chosen people most of all.”

 _Chosen people? Did he mean the kingdom as a whole, chosen by Hiryuu all those centuries ago? Or did he mean something else?_ So-min tilted his head. He supposed Ki-nam’s words were meant as a reassurance, but to him they sounded more like a threat, for some reason. He decided to change the subject. “You really protect all these people?” he asked. _And they believe you when you tell them the gods are looking out for them?_ In his own experience, the gods were the opposite of helpful, or protective. He had always supposed that after Hiryuu had returned to heaven, they had stopped caring about the holders of the whisps of their power they remained in the world, nevertheless passed on as echoes from one generation to the next. So-min actually preferred that to the alternative, had never wanted anything more from them. Direct divine intervention sounded a little too like control for his tastes.

“It is my humble honour and solemn duty” said Ki-nam, laying a hand over his heart. “United we may stand against the traitors who have driven us across the lands. But really…. I see these people as my family, one and all.” Ki-nam sighed. “I too had a son once, you know. But we lost him as a baby, and my wife and I have vowed never to have another child….” he smiled sadly, his eyes full of memory. “Until the day comes when we can settle and rule as the gods will it. Until then, these people here…” he extended a hand, indicating the camp. “They are all my children, and I will protect them as their father.”

“…I see.”

Ki-nam laughed. “Come. Now’s not the time for such talk.” He extended a hand, laying it on So-min’s shoulder and shepherding him gently but firmly along. “Your new family is waiting to welcome you home.”

Dinner seemed a rather chaotic but friendly affair, eaten collectively whilst sitting around a great fire that spat sparks into the night sky. As they passed people hurrying this way and that, Ki-nam stopped to greet them or exchange friendly words every few steps; he apparently knew all their names, as well as the details of their lives, and introduced a by now rather awkward So-min to each one.

It was difficult to believe they had been travelling as hard as Ki-nam said, and for so long, for they showed little trace of exhaustion; almost the opposite, in fact. The entire camp seemed suffused with a kind of impatient, restless anticipation, an energy that crackled under the surface, seeming to radiate from and centre on Ki-nam himself. So-min found himself thinking back to the man’s speech from before; though he still didn’t understand who these people were or what they wanted, he had to admire the hold Ki-nam had over them.

Finally they sat down to eat. As they did so, a woman in a cloak and a wide-brimmed hat materialised out of the dark and sat down quietly beside Ki-nam, a hand brushing his arm; he introduced her as his wife, Miju. She spoke little, but he had the impression that she was always watching, from underneath the brim of her hat.

“Geon….? Geon!”

He started, cursing himself. It had taken a few repitions for him to react to his assumed name; he needed to do better. “Yes?”

“Here you are, newcomer.”

He accepted the steaming bowl of vegetable stew with rice, with a word of thanks; it was only now that he realised quite how hungry he was. Yet he did not miss the way Miju’s watchful eyes – mere glints in the firelight with her face in shadow - lingered on his face, seeming to see through him despite the hood over his head. They made him a little uncomfortable to look at; he turned resolutely back to his bowl. He should wake Ara, he thought; she must be hungry too.

As he gently shook her awake, she whined in her sleep, stirring and murmuring something in the folds of his cloak.  

“Hush, hush now” soothed So-min, trying to quiet her in the way that he had seen mothers in the village do with their babies. But Ara was seven years old; he should have known it would not be as easy as that. She whimpered and wriggled in his arms, so that he had to struggle not to drop her. “Ar- ah… Joona” he muttered, catching himself at the last moment, biting his tongue and hoping that being called her mother’s name would not upset her even more. Once again, he wished he had been able to come up with another name on the spot. “It’s alright, we’re with….” but he broke off, words lost at the sight of her face.

Ara had woken and raised her head, so that her hood fell back. She was staring straight at Ki-nam with eyes round as coins, her face a mask of shocked terror.

So-min would have thought it the last vestiges of some nightmare, if Ki-nam hadn’t been looking right back with blank shock, momentarily caught off guard. The moment stretched out for what seemed like hours to So-min, as the two of them stared at each other, transfixed, and So-min’s mind worked furiously, trying to understand. _They had seen each other before_ _?_ _What did that mean?_

An instant later, the moment was broken by a shriek like shattering glass, too close to So-min’s ear. She was screaming, choking on sobs as she clung to So-min’s neck with a ferocity he had not known she had in her, crying incoherently. “Him… it’s… him…. So-min, help, I can’t let him…. she said I had to run away….! No! Don’t…”

She was struggling in his arms now, and he had to hold her tight; he didn’t want to drop her, and more than that, he feared that if he let her go she would show her power, revealing who they were before he had got to the bottom of the mystery of this strange,wandering settlement.

A moment later, Ara managed to wriggle out of his grip and fell to the dusty ground with a renewed wave of sobs. As she did so, she pulled on his cloak, making his own hood fall back, revealing his hair and face in the firelight.

To So-min’s slight alarm, Ki-nam had also risen to his feet and was still standing there are though he were a statue carved of wood, one hand slightly outstretched. There was a light in his eyes though, a kind of wild, sudden understanding, as though his mind were working very fast, suddenly seeing the whole world anew. But it was not Ara he was looking at, nor was it her for whom he was reaching out.

It was So-min.

“Blood of my blood…” he muttered, his voice turning strange, sonorous and low. “Dragon’s blood, unchained…” his eyes were clouded over, flickering this way and that, as though seeing something other than the scene before him. “Unchained!” he repeated, his voice rising high and his eyes too bright, as Miju laid a steadying hand on his arm. He didn’t even seem to feel it. “You have returned!” he stared blankly for a moment, eyes dancing. Then he blinked, falling forward onto his knees on the ground, breathing hard.

For a moment, Ki-nam looked down, his shoulders slumping forward so that several people had to rush forward to help prop him up. But another moment later, he shook them all off, rising again to his feet, a smile appearing on his face. “So it comes to pass.” Ki-nam shook his head, a little laugh escaping. “The blood always returns to its own, and dragons too know where they are bound to.”

So-min’s mind was working quickly. He suspected what had happened was that Ki-nam had just had a vision from the gods; he couldn’t imagine what else that was. That meant he really was a true seer, as he claimed. Unless he was simply a skilled charlatan; So-min didn’t really know how to tell.

But it was what he had said that set So-min thinking. _Blood of my blood_ … that had to mean dragon’s blood, So-min was sure of it. Things Dawon had told him earlier were echoing suddenly through his mind. The fact that they had been near the shrine, too. He squinted around, thinking over Ki-nam’s speech from earlier, seeing all anew. _All these people…?_ They all wore hoods and hats, covering their hair. Before he had assumed it was against the cold of the night, but now he began to wonder. If he were to look underneath, would each one have a tinge of green to their hair…?

“Ah….” said So-min, managing to seize a handful of Ara’s cloak before she could run; the last thing he needed was for her to jump into the sky and away from him, or to have to chase her down again. He wasn’t even sure if he could catch up with her, if she didn’t want to be found. But he couldn’t deny that he too was fighting the urge to simply grab her and jump away from these people; Ki-nam’s fixed gaze on him was disconcerting, to say the least, and So-min could not help but wonder what it was he was staring at. Was it his green hair? Surely not just that; it was almost as though he were not seeing So-min at all but rather looking right through him, or at something that his eyes couldn’t perceive. “Excuse me, I don’t think I quite understand.”

“Ah” said Ki-nam, looking around with a rueful smile. “Perhaps we can… continue this discussion  elsewhere, hmm?” He gave a light laugh. “What say you? Perhaps we can delay our meal a little while, as I think that first…” he looked pointedly at Ara, “we may have urgent matters to discuss.” He smiled, somehow at once biting and filled with suppressed anticipation, voice dry and sharp as twig snapping underfoot. “ _Ryokuryuu_.”

Another ripple through the onlooking crowd. So-min, nonplussed, suppressed the shudder that ran up his spine at Ki-nam’s tone combined with Miju’s watchful, tense stillness beside him, and nodded. He laid a hand on Ara’s shoulder, to try to calm her. If this turned ugly, he thought, he wouldn’t hesitate to get her out. But he was even more curious now than before, he had to admit.

“Yes” he said, carefully. He was not unaware that in answering to his title, he had given something away. _But what? And who was at an advantage here?_ “Yes, I think that would be best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from the song [Dead Hearts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQjiIKefubk) by Stars, which was something I was listening to quite a lot when I was first thinking about So-min and Ara, way before this story even had much of a plot. Even though the lyrics aren’t directly relevant, the song itself came to remind me of their dynamic so I had to get a lyric in somewhere.


	11. Runs in the family

The tent was the largest in the little camp. So-min wasn’t sure if he had been expecting luxury, but it was sparse inside, with only a heavy wooden chest, and a lamp on a trestle table, a chair and a partition that led to what must be another room, So-min thought.

A change had come over Ara as they had entered, though. Before she had been panicked, crying out and clawing at So-min; now, she was completely silent, walking stiffly at his side, grasping his hand so hard the he had almost lost sensation in the tips of his fingers.

It made him almost as uneasy as before, to see her like that. But he couldn’t understand what she was so afraid of; nothing about this indicated that Ki-nam or Miju meant them any harm, or at least nothing tangible, that he could put a name to. If they really did share the Ryokuryuu blood, he reasoned, then the last thing they would want to do would be to hurt either him or Ara.

Besides, he knew that if he was wrong he could always just jump into the sky, run away with Ara, where they could never follow.

But for now, he was still curious. He wanted to understand; who were these people? Was there really such a great concentration of dragon’s blood outside of the village? He had always been told that the Ryokuryuu descendants that roamed the land did so in a solitary way, as travellers – he had assumed his own parents had lived something like that – _but this_ … he thought about the people he had seen; there were so many of them, it was almost like a second village, he realised, if it really was true that all of them had the blood.

“I knew we were destined to meet” said Ki-nam, as soon as the door had closed behind them. “The gods have brought you here for a purpose, Ryokuryuu." His smile grew wider, more gleeful.

“What purpose?”

“ _Your_ purpose” said the man, nodding at them both. So-min noticed Miju’s head turn slightly towards him; she hadn’t said a single word this whole time, and it was almost more disconcerting that Ki-nam’s proclamations. “The destiny of your blood” Ki-nam continued. “You’ve strayed from it, yes, but now you will be brought back under the proper bond of your blood, for the protection of the land and of our people. Yes, it is finally time.” He smiled, walking towards the chest in the corner, slowly and deliberately. The next words were intoned, like a chant or a litany, Ki-nam’s hands placed flat on the great wooden chest lid. “The chain must be unbroken…” quick as a striking snake, his other hand shot out and seized Ara’s wrist. 

But before So-min could react, several things happened at once. First, Ara cried out again, a high, mewling wail, her body apparently frozen with fear. But at the same moment, Miju was moving, shoving her way forward past her husband. She pushed So-min back, grabbed his arm with surprising force, knocking him to his knees. He was just about pull himself away roughly, when he caught her eye; her eyes were a soft plum-purple, he realised now in the lamplight, and there were worry lines around them, making her look older than she was. Even though her round face was shadowed by her hat, something about the way she looked at him made him stop.

Miju leaned close to him; she smelled of woodsmoke and leather. She leaned down, whispering in his ear, swiftly, clearly. Her voice was urgent and slightly brittle, but her words were like a blow to his chest.

“So-min, listen to me very carefully. …Ki-nam is your father. I am your mother.”

The world went suddenly still, her words blending into a roaring in his ears, as time seemed to slow down. He was aware of his eyes widening, but her gaze was unflinching, even as he saw Ki-nam approach behind her, one hand on Ara’s shoulder.

“ _Don’t_ ” said Miju abruptly to So-min, her voice choked off. She raised her other hand, stilling the words in his mouth before they could become anything. “There’s no time. I only told you because… he’ll try to use it against you, to keep you here. _And you have to get out of here, So-min_.”

The way she said his name was like an open wound, years of withheld emotion all tangled up together in her voice. But her eyes were steely, holding his, her whispered words increasing in speed and urgency. She seemed to have an innate sense for Ki-nam advancing on them behind her. Or perhaps, he thought, it was merely long experience. “Take the girl. Don’t look back. Use your… your power, get as far away as you… _ah!_ ”

Ki-nam had come up behind her, wrenching her to her feet by the back of her collar, twisting it tight around her neck and pulling her aside to crumple to the ground. He glared down at So-min, who was already on his feet, anger and pain and confusion rising up in him like a storm. There was still a roaring in his head as Miju’s words echoed there, growing louder, blocking out all else.

No; not all else. He could still see Ara; Ki-nam held her by the shoulders. His grip was loose, but Ara was behaving for all the world as though he was holding a knife to her throat. She was wide-eyed, frozen and rigid with terror as So-min met her eye, trying to reassure her despite his confusion.

Ki-nam tilted his head, smiling almost genially, horribly incongruous with the dangerous gleam in his eye. “So” he said softly, “now you know. I didn’t think it should change much if you knew or not, but - ” he gestured dismissively at Miju, his voice cutting, “ - apparently contrariness runs in this dragon’s blood. So here we stand, the four of us; no more secrets. What a family we make.”

“ _Don’t_ call us that” spat So-min. His eyes were on Ara, the fear in her stance. Already, he knew he should have gone with her instinct, should have run away long ago.

“Oh, haven’t you had time to get used to the idea?” Ki-nam raised an eyebrow and advanced a little, pushing Ara forward with him, hand still on her shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, voice bitter. “Honestly, I was surprised you didn’t know already, as soon as you heard my name. Did that traitor Jae-gyu never tell you about me? Or In-na? Or the cursed dragon Geon, with his dying breaths?” he laughed, bitterly, taunting. “But no, I suppose they wouldn’t would they?” he said. “To steal a child away from his cradle….” Ki-nam shook his head. “Not only treachery against their own blood, but against the gods too. I’m not surprised at all that they lied to you at every turn.”

“Stop it!” snapped So-min. “Don’t you dare speak of them like that!”

“Oh?” he held Ara’s wrist high, her limbs still rigid and motionless with terror. “I wonder, would you be so quick to forgive a thief who stole this little girl from her bed in the dead of night?”

So-min was determined not to take the bait; Ki-nam had to be lying to him. “That’s not what happened with me! I was left on their doorstep!” he thought back to when he was a child, he could remember In-na telling him and Joona the story by the fireside as she mended clothes, while Jae-gyu had heated water in a pot to make them all tea. Could it all have been lies? No, he must not think like that. He mustn’t let this man get inside his head.

He looked over at Miju, wondering whether he could believe what she said either. He didn’t know whom to trust anymore; he wished he could straighten out all the facts in his head, but he was finding it hard to think clearly. “It was winter….” he said, more to himself than anything. “I was born on the road. My parents left me wrapped up in a blanket outside the door of the house of the Ryokuryuu. Geon came out and found me. They took me in.”

“Oh, is that what they told you?” Ki-nam was incredulous. “And you believe it?”

“Yes!” said So-min. “They… they used to tell me about it on my birthday! I used to ask!” He blinked away an incipient tear, face hot. “Every year!”

Ki-nam smiled, the smile of a predator that has cornered its prey. “Tell me this then, my son. How did they know the day you were born?”

So-min opened his mouth and closed it again. “I….” _how had they known?_ It was a good question. Doubt flickered within him, before he quashed it, resolutely. “They must now have guessed it. Made it up…”

“No” said Ki-nam. “You were born on the very last day before the new year began. I remember it well. It was a hard, cold winter.”

So-min breathed hard. It was true; his birthday was the day before the year turned, and had always felt a little overshadowed by the greater celebration. _Could it be true? Could this man really be_ … but then, it still didn’t make sense. And then there was Ara. He could see the naked terror in her eyes, knew instinctively that this was something more than some childhood fear or fancy. Ki-nam’s face meant something to her, and it was nothing good. Miju’s words echoed too in his head. _You have to get out of here. Take the girl. Don’t look back_.

So-min looked down at the woman who had said she was his mother, still kneeling on the floor breathing hard. She rubbing her throat where he had choked her with her collar, staring up them both, desperation on her face, as well as something unreadable. Her hat had fallen to the ground, and her hair had sprung loose; a mass of unruly curls much like his own, but a soft brown tinged with moss-green and grey.

_Could he really trust her?_

“If you’re my father” he said, staring back at Ki-nam, guarded, “will you answer a question I have?”

“Of course.”

“Why is Ara so afraid of you?”

The man opened his mouth to speak, hesitated for a moment; So-min realised he had caught him off guard. But then Ki-nam smiled, smooth as ever. “I have no idea.”

It was all the answer So-min needed. Or rather, it _wasn’t_ an answer; it was a lie. And that was all he needed to decide, to squash down his curiosity and look to Ara. He knew now – with a shapeless foreboding - that he had to get her out of here, though he might never know the truth. But before he could act, there was a flash of motion in the corner of his eye; Miju was standing, throwing her weight sideways into Ki-nam as Ara jumped out of the way, nearly colliding with So-min, clinging to his cloak.

The two of them went crashing to the floor as Ara gasped, So-min quickly sweeping her up in his arms with an intense rush of relief. But for a moment he was still frozen, rooted to the spot.

“Go!” shouted Miju, as Ki-nam knocked her aside once more. There was blood running from her nose, fresh and bright in the lamplight. “Leave! Get away!”

That broke him out of his reverie. “But you - ”

“Don’t worry about me!” she hissed, as Ki-nam lunged for him, nearly catching Ara’s hair, making her scream. Miju tripped him, tangling her hands in his trailing robe so he fell to the floor cursing. “Please… my son” she said, “I’m afraid I’ve done you terrible wrongs, and the gods know you don’t have to love me but… _ah!_ Let me try to make amends? You have to save yourself… ”

So-min made his decision. He tore his gaze away, holding Ara close so that her face was hidden in the front of his cloak. Then he slammed the knee of his dragon’s leg into the large wooden chest in the corner, sending its considerable weight - more than he was expecting, and it was more difficult to move than it should be, he thought with dread - shuddering across the wooden boards that made the floor of the tent, blocking Ki-nam and Miju from reaching him. Something inside rattled, but he barely noticed. Roughly, he wrenched aside the curtain door and stumbled out into the night, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the comparative darkness.

But no, it was not dark, he realised too late; there were torches, borne by people holding blades that he was only able to make out just in time. A moment later he was flinging his dagger at one with his free hand – he dimly registered a scream, an opening in the circle of surrounding people – and lashing out with his dragon’s foot in a wide, flying kick. It was hard, carrying Ara, and he nearly overbalanced as the kick connected with what felt like someone’s stomach, sending the dark, hooded form of his faceless attacker tumbling back. A woman with her face half hidden by a hat came next, but he feinted and dodged her, glinting steel arcing above his head.

That was it, he realised; he was in a clear space, he was no longer hemmed in and surrounded. He wasted no time; he ran a little, great bounds fueled by danger and the rush of the fight, drawing on strength he hadn’t known he had. Even as he jumped into the sky, he heard a great shout behind him, recognising it – despite the wail of the wind, Ara’s sobbing cries, and the roaring that came from inside his head – as Ki-nam’s, a shout of frustrated rage that seemed not quite human.

The cold wind was like a stinging slap to his face. When he landed, he did not pause but jumped immediately into the air once more; if he had been tired before, now his blood was beating fast in his veins, giving him new strength. Dimly, he realised he hardly knew where he was going, but still he carried on in leaps, again and again.

Finally So-min stopped, his breathing coming fast and sharp, a pain in his chest, weakness in his leg. He set Ara down, dropping to his knees in the ditch beside the road, trying to get his breath back as the world spun around him. Nausea rolled over him in waves, and he wretched, though he hadn’t eaten for so long that there was nothing to bring up. His breath spiked in his chest, as sobs choked his throat.

The moon was just beginning to rise, in the corner of his eye. Yet nothing was the same as it had been a few hours ago. Somehow the whole world seemed different. So-min dropped his head, bracing his hands against the ground, fingers clawing at the damp earth. _His parents… his family_ … _then what did that make In-na and Jae-gyu,_ _the family he had known_ _? Could he really trust anything he had thought he had known before?_ Dizziness swept over him. He was glad that his hair fell over his face, which was twisted, tears falling freely from his eyes.

After a while, he became aware of a light touch on his shoulder; a small, warm hand. “S-So-min…?”

He looked up. “Ara.” She was pale and red-eyed, with tear tracks down her face. It made his heart clench painfully. He should have jumped into the sky as soon as she had begun to look afraid, and damn his curiosity. She was more important; he saw that now. _Why hadn’t he protected her from this?_

_Why wouldn’t he be able to protect her forever?_

“Ara” he managed, raising his head, though his vision was still spinning a little. He leaned forward, hugged her very tightly. “I’m sorry…”

“ ’s okay” she mumbled into his cloak, hugging him back.

He pulled back. “No, it’s _not_ okay” he snapped, getting up and pacing backwards and forwards. “I don’t know what my - ” the word _father_ caught in his throat, “ - _that man_ has done, but I ignored your warning. I won’t _ever_ do that again.”

He expected her to run forward and hug him again, to seek comfort, but to his surprise, she dropped her head, mumbling something unintelligible to the ground.

“What?”

“I said I’m glad you didn’t fight him! I’m glad you’re okay!”

He blinked. “Why should I not be?” _Well, there were a lot of reasons, but-_

“You left! You didn’t fight him, you didn’t die to protect me!”

He frowned; now he was lost. “Wait. Who…” his eyes widened, a horrible thought coming to him. He only hoped he was wrong. “You… you don’t mean…”

“So-min…” she wept, scrubbing at the tears on her face with dirty palms. “I couldn’t… I shouldn’t have….” she stared at him, took a deep breath. “That man… he killed Mama!”

For a moment, So-min simply stared at her, the world spinning even faster around him. Ki-nam…? “He…. killed….?”

“Mm-hm” Ara nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks; she wiped them off with a sleeve. “He….” she hiccuped. “He wanted to take me away, keep me with them.” Her words were hitched by sobs. “B-because of my leg. But she wouldn’t let him. Sh-she fought him, with her spear, and…. and she made me promise to run away, and…. I did… if it was you, you would have stayed, would have helped her!” Ara let out a high, keening wail. “I’m s-sorry…! I know she was your friend! I’m so sorry, So-min!”

But she didn’t get any further, for he was hugging her close, holding her small body close to his chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong” he muttered into her hair. Her hands went up around his chest, bunching in his cloak and clasping him close once again. Grief was welling up in him, grief and anger and shear exhaustion, and the acute pain of how much he loved this child, wanted to see her safe. His hands were trembling as he drew back from her, holding her at arms’ length and wiping a tear away from her eye. “Understand?”

She looked doubtful, but she sniffed, nodded slowly. “So-min….” she said. “She told me to find you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“She said, if anything ever happened to her, to follow the green light. The one in my head. That once I found it, I would be….” she sniffed again. “Safe.”

His heart ached. “You _are_ safe, Ara” he said. “I promise I won’t let him hurt you. Or anyone else.”

She nodded, wordlessly. “She also said… to tell you she was sorry.”

He caught his breath, feeling tears spill down his face once more; he had never cried for Joona, before yesterday. Not while she could be alive, not even on the days when the pain of missing her ricocheted though him, cold nights in the wilds where he had run to to escape that pain that lived in the village he had left behind. But now all he seemed to be able to do was cry; he felt Ara’s small hand came and wipe his own tears away, and they sat there by the side of the road on a cool spring night as the moon moved steadily across the sky.

As the night was beginning to pass to the cold blue-greyness before the dawn, So-min roused himself from the state of waking sleep he had been lingering in, and realised that Ara had fallen asleep in his arms. He was also so cold he could barely feel his hands and feet; even the right foot, which shouldn’t be sensitive to the cold, felt worryingly numb. He frowned, carefully lifting Ara; she seemed to have stayed warmer in his arms, which was something at least.

He blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes; if anything his drowsing - filled with ghosts of dark dreams - had only left him more tired. But his head did feel a little clearer. He lifted Ara up higher in his arms, still asleep, and began the journey home.

* * *

 

In hindsight, Joona should have known she couldn’t run forever.

Not with the Wind Tribe authorities searching for her. Not with Ki-nam’s people on her tail too. It was bound to have been one or the other; if only she had accepted that sooner, planned more carefully for the worst, done a little more to cover her tracks…

 _No_. She quashed any impulse towards _what-ifs_ , trying to focus only on the situation at hand. She had slipped somewhere along the way – and she had held out for a little over six years now, it was a bound to happen – but she could still see away out, even from this. Even though this steep rocky valley in the Fire Tribe borderlands was a death trap in the snow, even though she could hear the mounted archers coming now, hooves striking the rocks and making a low rumbling in the distance.

_Breathe. Focus on the moment, each practical thing that needs to be done, and there might just be a way out._

Or at least a way out for Ara, if not for herself.

“Ara” said Joona, as she bundled items into the little leather satchel, then took them out and started again. _A knife, a little of their stock of rations, fruit, nuts, dried strips of meat. She could get water anywhere, gods knew it_ _had snowed_ _enough… a spare scarf, a cloak._ _It was cold, she’d need both._ _Were her shoes strong enough? No, Ara had grown out of them recently, but it wasn’t to be helped now_. “Remember what I told you. You need to get away from here, and fast….”

“I don’t want to leave you behind, Mama!”

“Ara! There’s no time…” Joona finished packing the bag, slipped the book inside and put it around her daughter’s shoulder. Sentimental, maybe, that last. Or perhaps not; Ara was Ryokuryuu, so they would take her in, but this was incontrovertible proof that she was Joona’s daughter. However much they may hate and resent Joona for leaving, surely that must count for something? Joona hoped so. She ignored Ara’s protests, bundling her in the scarf and cloak, taking off the straw hat that hung on the outside of her pack and pulling it down firmly over Ara’s bright hair, tying it under her chin. She tutted; Ara’s trousers were a little too short and you could still see several inches of green scales between the hem and her shoe. Still, there was no help for that now either.

Not with Ki-nam’s people approaching, soon to surround them. This was a bad place, the dried river valley was a dead end with thickets of hedges lining the steep slopes, the other end a sheer drop. Climbing out would be hard going at the best of times, and with the snow lying on the frozen ground it would be next to impossible. Even if by some miracle she got past them, their camp blocked the valley mouth. If they were under attack it would be a death trap for sure.

Death for herself, at least, Joona thought grimly. For Ara, it might be something else. When she closed her eyes, she saw the glint of iron chains in the darkness behind her lids.

How had she let this happen? Again Joona cursed her own stupidity, hating how complacent she had let herself become, in all these years. Of course he had been able to catch up with her. She shuddered at the memory of that camp; she would almost have preferred to face justice in the Wind Tribe, for at least Ara’s fate may not be so cruel then.  

“Mama” Ara was saying, tears in her eyes, mingling with the snowflakes melting on her upturned face. She pointed at her dragon leg. “Let me stay, I can fight with you….”

“No. You’re not old enough.”

“But… but I’m -”

“You’re six years old, is what you are!” she snapped, then immediately regretted it when Ara flinched back. She sighed. “The best use of your power right now is to escape. I’ll fight, distract them, and then I’ll join you later.”

Ara looked sceptical. “P-promise?”

“Only if you promise to fly away” said Joona. “Far away, as far as you can. Remember what we said? Follow the green light. You’ll be safe.” She hesitated. “Please say… that I’m sorry.”

“Mama…”

“Ara! Promise me!”  

Ara hesitated for only a moment before nodding solemnly, clasping Joona’s hand in both of hers. “I promise.”  

Joona squeezed Ara’s hands. “Then I promise too.”

They were hiding behind a large cluster of tumbled boulders, and Joona peered surreptitiously out from behind one; even as she did so, an arrow sang past her, ruffling her hair as she ducked back out of sight. Too late… she cursed, holding Ara close. “Wait. It’s not safe….” there had been several mounted archers there, as well as people with spears, on foot, all hooded and cloaked.

 _And then at their head, a man Joona had hoped never to see again_ ….

She tried to breath, clutching Ara to her chest. A distraction… that was what she needed. She needed to charge out and fight Ki-nam and his inner circle head on, to give Ara the chance she needed to escape.

If she played it just right, she might even truly survive to see Ara’s face again.

She gritted her teeth. “Ara. Stay still, and stay hidden here until I signal you. All right?”

“But… Mama…!”

“Hush, child.” She held a finger over Ara’s mouth, holding her close. She lifted the brim of Ara’s hat and pressed a kiss to her forehead, eyes closing for just a moment. Joona let herself have that, just holding her daughter as Ara’s small arms came up to cling to her cloak, the straw of her too-large hat scratchy against Joona’s cheek.  

But they didn’t have time for this now, Joona knew. And so she pulled down Ara’s hat over her bright hair once more, then let her go, motioning to her to stay silent.

 _I love you_ , she mouthed, holding her daughter’s wide-eyed, tear-filled gaze.  

Then she stood up, steeled herself as she turned to face figures cut out starkly in earthy browns and greens against the grey and white landscape. They encircled her, cutting off the way out, just within bowshot but still keeping their distance.

She lifted her spear, her fingers trembling just a little as the snow melted softly on her cheeks.

 _Fly_ , she begged Ara, silently, in her own head as the snow fell around her. _Please, Ara. When the time comes, fly away to So-min’s side_.

She only hoped it would be enough.


	12. Standing on your own two feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and character death in this chapter.

“I know she’s there. The girl. The monster” said Ki-nam, when she was close enough to hear him.

He tilted his head; he had a sword, but he wasn’t holding it on guard; he was swinging it lazily about his wrist on its tasselled string. By contrast, Miju and the other archers had drawn their bows, tense and stiff. He swung the sword around, tossing it a little and catching it again, pointing it at her chest. “You’re clearly trying to create a distraction to give her time to get away” said Ki-nam, matter-of-factly. “Still, that child is mine by rights; of blood, and as recompense for what has been taken from me. Now… move aside.”  

“She’s not here” lied Joona. “I sent her away.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I know that isn’t the truth.” He grinned, spinning the sword in a circle. “Have you forgotten how the gods whisper in my ears…?”

“If those are the kind of _gods_ you serve you’ve got some nerve to call my daughter a monster.” She frowned. _Buy time, buy time… what was needed was a distraction_. “but what did you mean when you said _recompense_?”

Ki-nam laughed slightly. He balanced his sword – a curved, slashing blade which glinted dully in the grey light - on a gloved finger, supporting the flat of the blade right at the balance point. It wobbled from side to side as he touched the hilt. “I mean, that when one thing is taken from me, I deserve my due.” He shrugged, flipping the sword up and catching it by the hilt in one fluid motion. “Payment in kind.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, haven’t you figured it out yet?” said Ki-nam, rolling his eyes. “I know you’re not an idiot, girl. Payment in kind… a child for a child, a daughter for a son, a dragon for a - ”

She did not let him finish his sentence. She knew he was expecting her to want to know the answer, to let her curiosity outweigh all else, but she wouldn’t play to his schemes. She cut at his feet with her spear, ducking and whirling as his sword sliced a wide arc where her head had been a moment before. An arrow struck the ground beside her foot, but Ki-nam held up a hand. “No!” he barked. “This one’s mine!”

 _Ah_ , thought Joona. _So he is proud. He wants to kill me himself_. That might be made to work to her advantage somehow. But right now she didn’t know how; she was too busy dodging his blows. He was fast, faster than she would have guessed, and though his reach with the sword was not as long as hers with her spear – and she had managed to keep him at a safe distance so far - he had a sort of catlike grace and sparsity of movement that chilled her even more than the frigid wind blowing in her hair. It made her think unpleasantly of a hunting animal exhausting the prey, conserving its strength for the killing blow.

He was toying with her then? That certainly was what it seemed like. She gritted her teeth. Two could play at that game.

She darted to one side, pulling the dagger from her belt and throwing it at him. She had meant to force him to dodge so she could come at him the other way, but to her surprise, he caught it perfectly in his hand. His fist closed around the blade without even flinching as though the pain was nothing, slicing through his soft fur glove, blood dripping down his sleeve as he turned slowly to face her again.

“Don’t you remember?” he said. “The gods protect me.”

“But you got hurt” said Joona. “You cut like anyone does.”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t” he said, languidly. “I said they protect me, not that they don’t let me get hurt.”

“That doesn’t make any sense” muttered Joona, through gritted teeth. She wondered – briefly – whether this man really had communicated with the gods, before realising it did not matter either way. He was just as dangerous as a normal human who thought himself indestructable, if not more so. She swung her spear around once more, blocking a cut from his sword. She could keep him at a distance; that was her advantage in this fight, if she had one at all. She parried the next blow too, turning his strength back on him, gradually pushing him further from her by moving her grip as close to the end of her spear as she dared. _Less control, but maybe - just maybe - it might be worth it_ …

She was tiring, but then, she thought, so was he. Or perhaps his blows were getting lighter only because he needed to work less to deflect Joona’s. Sweat beaded her brow. Which was it?

It didn’t really matter, she knew. She was still at the disadvantage here, there were still others behind him, archers among them. This was no real fight; this was a game. Perhaps he would keep her alive until he caught Ara, make her watch… she shouldn’t have told Ara to wait for her signal, she realised in a flash of horror. She should have just told her to run there and then, to fly away while she still could.

She risked a glance behind her; she couldn’t see Ara. _Let her have gone, let her have jumped to safety, please…_

Joona thrust forward with her spear, with a sudden, savage spurt of strength, aiming for his head. But he ducked, and all she struck was his hat.

……His hat, which came loose where it was tied over his hair.

His hair, which was shot through with silver, but a dark, unmistakable shade of green.

Joona gasped. “You’re….” _from the village? Her own village?_ Perhaps he just carried the dragon’s blood; it wasn’t exactly rare, as their people had always had trouble staying in one place, dragon or not. But what did that mean? She didn’t have time to think about it now, but a million questions swarmed up over her.  

“Oh, you understand now, do you? _Good_ ” Ki-nam looked infuriated, lunging at her. “Then perhaps you’ll understand a little why I have to kill you.”

“No!” she burst out, tears coming to her eyes, freezing on her face in the wind. “No, I don’t understand! If the dragon’s blood runs in both our veins then why do you hate me so much?”

For a moment he stared at her, his teeth bared, face a twisted mask of fury. Then he composed himself, suddenly cold as the frozen air blowing around him. “It is not you I hate” he said, stiff and clear. “There is _nothing_ personal in this!” his voice rose, as though he were struggling to push back burgeoning fury.

“Then why?” she screamed at him. “Why would the gods ever tell you to do something like this! Why would they want you to harm a child, my daughter, one of your own blood!” As she shouted, she parried his savage sword-cut at her chest. “I can’t believe they ever would!” She cast around desperately, her words blown thin by the howling wind. “Doesn’t the power of Ryokuryuu _come_ from the gods?”

“They have sent this curse on my family, to test me! My son is the proof! The traitors of my own blood proof again, and every day of my exile proof a thousand times!” he was spitting with sudden rage, voice rising high. “I will master it! I am destined to bind down the curse that is the Ryokuryuu line, the scourge of our people for centuries!” There were tears in his eyes, but not of sadness; his gaze shone with a terrible light. “If we cannot stamp the bloodline out of this world, then we must control them.” He laughed, throwing back his head. “It’s so simple! No one else saw it…. that was what I was born for!”

Joona didn’t understand. But that was all right; Joona didn’t need to, just like she didn’t been to survive. The only one who needed to survive was Ara, so her dragon’s blood could lead her safely to So-min.

Joona ducked, pulling her spear back behind her; she felt it catch on something, and thought she’d hurt him, but it was only his elbow she had cut, a shallow wound.

Still, she spun away, panting. It was then that she remembered; She didn’t know why but words were filtering back to her from long ago. _You spin so much; it’s a risky way of fighting, isn’t it_ _?_

 _I_ _t_ _leaves your back wide open_.

It was like a blow in itself, that memory. Why had she thought of that then? She remembered Tae-rin’s face as he said the words, a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. She had been in love then - or something like it - and fighting had been in play. Until it hadn’t. Still, she pushed aside the inevitable thought of his blood on her hands. Now she just needed to survive.

Ki-nam’s sword came close to her upper thigh, so close she only just managed to parry it. She cursed; that had been too close, she had almost let the past distract her. _Why had she remembered that now…?_

But there might be a way to use it. _If_ _an enemy_ _knows what to expect from you, do the opposite_ …. she squinted at Ki-nam as she whirled back. She could do one of two things; draw this out as long as possible, then signal Ara to run when the archers were complacent and distracted. If he was playing with her, then, well…. she could still play his game.

She could also just end it now. He expected her to be fleet-footed, to dance for him. He probably expected she would tire soon. And she was tiring, but…. a single blow would do it, would rid the world of this man. She didn’t know who he really was, and she didn’t want to find out.

 _If she could pull it off…_ A blow, arcing down across her back as the man dodged past her, within the range of her spear. Hadn’t Jae-gyu always warned her, back when she had trained Joona, to beware the biggest weakness of a spearfighter? _Let your opponent get closer than your reach and you were defenceless_ … _a sword was a shorter range weapon_ …. in a single, drawn out second it all came rushing back.

 _A moment of distraction can be the difference between winning and losing, living and dying_. Time stretched out as he came back around her, using the momentum of his swing to lash out savagely, head on…

All it took was a fraction of a moment; that flashing sword, slicing through the skin of her abdomen, a bright arc accompanied by a spray of blood. A glancing blow, yes, but a deep wound all the same, making her stumble to her knees as Ki-nam slipped past her.

He eyes widened, as blood spilled on the frozen ground, pain exploding within her. She bit her tongue as she fell, blood filling up her mouth even as it ran through the fingers of the hand clasped around the wound; her other hand still held her spear.

But she was hardly thinking of that. Only one thought was in her mind now; and it was now or never. Ki-nam signalled, and the others came around her in a circle, like hunting dogs about to fall on their prey. Miju covered their backs with her bow, her face hidden by her broad brimmed hat as the icy wind picked up, blowing her cloak out like the shadowy wings of a carrion bird.

Even as Joona tried to rise to her feet – levering herself up with the spike at the base of her spear, biting down hard on her lip against the tearing pain – an arrow came singing close, its sound loud in her ears. Joona closed her eyes instinctively, knowing she had not the speed to dodge it now.

But even as it came, there was another sound; a scream, higher than the wind, tearing and full of horror. Then something small and fast was barrelling into her, knocking her sideways so thenext arrow struck the rocks instead, clattering away to the dry river bed.

A small figure, blurred by her tears, springing to her feet between Joona and her attackers. Dread coiled inside her. _No, she shouldn’t be here, she should be far away by now_ …

“Mama!” The wind tugged at Ara’s cloak and hat, blowing her vivid green hair around, the only colour in the landscape but for Joona’s own dark crimson blood on the stones. “I won’t let them hurt you!”

“Ara!” Joona tried to shout, but it was no good, her voice was nowhere to be found, and trying to breathe sent a ragged tearing pain through her, making her convulse. She could taste blood in her mouth. She spat it out, clearing her throat with all the strength left to her. “Ara!” she screamed. “R-remember your promise! Run! Fly away!”

“No!” screamed Ara, tears flooding down her face as Ki-nam and the archers closed in all around her, hemming her in with the solid rock of the valley’s dead end behind, the terrain strewn with broken boulders from some long-ago rockslide perhaps. There was only one way out; up. But Ara was staying rooted to the ground. “I won’t leave you behind!”

“Y-you must! Remember what we said!” Joona’s heart broke with every word, but she needed to send Ara away safely before she died. _Let her have accomplished that at least._

“The… the green light?”  

“Yes!” _So-min would keep her safe. Surely he would._ “Find him, Ara! He’ll protect you!” she hesitated. “Tell him…. tell him I’m sorry…”  

“Mama!” wailed Ara, dodging another arrow that sang past. One of Ki-nam’s men lunged for her and she kicked his arm visciously away with a furious, terrified scream. It made Joona’s heart leap with fear, but she could hardly move; she was falling to the ground, nearly out of strength. She was lying down now, unable to lift herself, in a spreading pool of blood.

“Mama…” sobbed Ara. “I can’t go without you!”

“You must…. _please_ , Ara…” said Joona, even as her awareness began to fade, a blackness encroaching on her vision even as her body felt untethered from her, lost in a roaring haze of pain. “Ara….” she mumbled, as the sound of her daughter’s voice faded to a buzzing in her ears.

Only to be jolted back a moment later, going tense with shock. “Ah! Ara, look out!”

Even as she said the words, several things happened at once. Miju took aim – her head raised, so Joona could see her face studiously blank, as though she were carved from ice - and another arrow came sailing towards her, hitting her square in the chest; she no longer had the strength to move aside.

At the same time, Ki-nam lunged forward and his hand shot out, grasped Ara tightly by the back of the cloak and as quick as that, had clasped her wrists, pulling them up behind her back so that Ara yelled out in pain, too startled even to struggle before it was too late. He had taken the chance, lifted her off the ground, kicking ineffectually in mid-air. Joona’s heart tore as she watched Ara try to grow her dragon leg to twice its normal size, but it was no good; she still wasn’t strong enough, didn’t have enough of the power, and she couldn’t quite reach the ground. Her screams resounded off the stone walls of the canyon, twisted and distorted by the wind and the echoes.

But at the same moment, Joona became aware of another sound.

A _familiar_ sound, though for a moment she could not quite place it.

Ah yes, that was it; her head was lying parallel to the ground, and in the distance, she could hear a low rumbling; how long had it been there? She hadn’t noticed before, but now it was growing louder, closer…

_Horses? Approaching cavalry, riding down into the far end of the valley?_

A horn blared loud and sharp in the cold air, making Joona’s head spin. But she could see something now, could see specks of blue amid the greyness.

Another horn blast; in the past, it would have made her flinch, so many years had she spent on the run from her two sets of pursuers. It was always going to be one of the two that caught up with her. Either Ki-nam’s people – _her own people_ , she now knew – or…

_The Wind Tribe?_

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she didn’t even stop to think that it was making the blood come faster, her life pouring out all too quickly. She laughed then, blood on her lips – Miju’s arrow must have punctured a lung - as she watched Ki-nam start in alarm. The bulk of his own people left further up the valley scattered in the path of the Wind Tribe cavalry. They really had spared no effort in finding her, Joona thought vaguely; there was a whole company here, but then she supposed that was fair, given what she had done.

But even that wasn’t enough to distract her now; her eyes were fixed on the charging horses, on Ki-nam’s people parting like the sea as the Wind Tribe’s horse archers poured down the slope.

They were coming close; too close, coming around to encircle Joona’s little group of attackers. An arrow came, hitting the cloaked figure beside Miju in the chest; the unknown archer crumpled to the ground in silence, blood pooling on the stones; they had been trying to nock another arrow, Joona saw.

“Halt!” came a voice, harsh against the rocks. “Give up the woman, and the girl! Or you will be arrested and taken back to Fuuga to stand trial as an accomplice to murder and an ally to demons!”

Ki-nam stood still for only a brief moment, holding Ara fast. But even as he did, a spear came darting at him, thrown by one of the Wind Tribe guards. Their aim was true, and with a curse, Ki-nam was forced to leap aside, so the spear struck the rocks behind him.

But in doing so, he must have loosened his grip on Ara, for she was able to kick her way free, moving like a green streak of brightness in the dimming light of Joona’s fading awareness. Of course, she immediately came to Joona’s side as battle broke out all around them, shouting and the clash of weapons echoing against the rocks.

“Mama!”

A tear ran down Joona’s face, as Ara clutched her hand one last time, blood staining her small, cold fingers. “Go, child” she managed to force out. “I will see you again…. above the skies…”

Ara nodded, tears freezing on her face as Joona gave her a little push, with the very last of her strength.

With her final shred of awareness, Joona heard a child’s shout of frustrated rage and grief, saw a flash of something shooting upwards into the cloudy sky.

“Forgive me… please…” she whispered, not knowing to whom she spoke. Maybe it was So-min; maybe it was the family she had left, her mother and aunt, and her father. _Would she see him again soon, in the skies?_ Maybe it was to Tae-rin, whose life she had taken. Certainly it was to her daughter, for Joona wouldn’t be able to protect her anymore.

She had hope though. So-min would protect Ara. Joona had to believe he would.

She laid her head down on the rough stone now soaked with her quickly freezing blood, letting her last strength leave her as darkness closed over her for the final time.

* * *

 

Ara was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to sleep as long as she lived, in fact; not without Mama there. She had curled up in the crook of a tree several hours ago, clutching the little leather bag and wishing she never had to move from that place ever again.

She hugged her knees and tried to make herself as small as possible. Maybe that way she’d just disappear; either that, or if she stayed still enough, the tree would grow around her, and she would vanish between smooth grey-green bark and lichen.

She didn’t think she would mind that, even if it meant staying in the same place for who knew how many years. Ara loved the sky, the feeling of the wind on her face, but without Mama in it the world felt strange, emptier and crueller and less forgiving than it had that very morning when they had eaten breakfast together in the valley where they had been ambushed.

When she closed her eyes, she could see Mama’s blood staining the rocks, turning her pretty grey-green-brown hair to a dark, horrible red…

Ara opened her eyes, wiping her swollen, sodden face on her sleeve, and let out a sob, kicking savagely at a bare winter branch of the tree with her dragon’s foot. It cracked, falling to the ground; it didn’t make her feel any better.

That was when she caught a flash of brightness, just at the corner of her eye.

She gasped, twisting around to try to get a better look - it had been on the forest floor - but there was nothing there. She squinted into the undergrowth, afraid again; she had jumped so _far_ before she had began to stumble with exhaustion; could they really have caught up with her already?

“Pst! Ryokuryuu!”

She stiffened, her eyes suddenly wide.

There was a rustling in the bushes. “Don’t be scared! I’m down here!”

“Don’t come near me!” she shrieked, hugging her bag close, her heart racing in her chest.

“No, no, Zeno won’t! Zeno just wants to - “

She didn’t wait to hear anymore. She jumped, landing in the next tree along.

More rustling, and then something bright, popping up amongst the dead and shrivelled winter undergrowth. “Ryokuryuu, wait!”

“Go away!” screamed Ara, breaking another branch off the tree with two blows, kicking it wildly at the source of the voice. “Just leave me alone!”

“Ryokuryuu, I can explain - ”

“No!” she screamed. Before she had felt all blank and then very cold inside, but now she felt anger, poisonous and burning. “Go away, go away, _go away!_ ”

“Ryokuryuu, Zeno’s come to help!” A messy, straw-coloured head of hair popped up amongst the brush, dodging another flying branch. “Please, ah… look! You can sense Zeno, right?”

Ara blinked. She _could_ sense this stranger, she realised. A sort of golden glow in her head, brighter and more constant than she had ever felt before, radiating warmth. She hadn’t noticed before, but, she thought, he didn’t really feel like a stranger. She couldn’t help but let out a little gasp, instantly going still. “Oh…”

He smiled, as Ara stood on a branch and stared, frozen for a moment by shock. Without moving forward or making any sudden motions, he extended a cautious hand towards her. “You know who I am… right?”

Surprisingly, she thought she did. _But how could it be…?_ “O….Ouryuu….?”

He sighed. “Just Zeno” he said, standing up with a bow. “Zeno is pleased to meet you, Ryokuryuu.” His voice went a little solemn. “Ryokuryuu must get out of this forest, or at least keep moving. There are hunters here, people who would catch Ryokuryuu and give her to the ones who are following even now….”

Ara felt her heart twist, feeling suddenly all cold again inside, her hands gripping the bag with the book in it, the only thing she had left of her mother. For so long, Ara had wanted to meet the other dragon warriors, but now that one stood at the bottom of the tree, she didn’t feel joy; there was only an enormous, deep hole in her chest, sucking up any happiness she might have felt.

A voice interrupted her thoughts, and she realised she had been drifting away into that dark place again. “….Will Ryokuryuu come down from the tree?”

Ara frowned. She knew she had to keep moving - she had to keep her promise, the green light was still out there and she was going to have to go and find it - but for now, the whole world around her little haven in the branches seemed huge and frightening. She sat down in the crook of the tree, pushed her face into her drawn-up knees and shook her head.

“Then…. will Ryokuryuu let Zeno come up there….?”

Ara raised her head a little, peering down at him from under the brim of her hat. Maybe if was because she was looking down at him from above, but Ouryuu - if that was really who he was - was smaller than she had imagined him in the story. She had always pictured someone scary-looking, a great hulking person with bulging muscles - and indeed, that was what the illustrator of her book had apparently thought too - but this Ouryuu was a slight young man, with messy hair and odd shoes on, wearing a very pretty necklace over tattered, dusty robes the colour of sand.

He was even shorter than Mama, she thought, though that brought the pain back all over again. Still, it receded a little when he smiled; a funny, lopsided smile, but one that radiated so much kindness it made tears come to her eyes.

Maybe he wasn’t really Ouryuu, she thought. Maybe he was a ghost, some kind of spirit….

…..And if he was, then maybe he knew where Mama was?

Or maybe he wasn’t real at all? Maybe he was just imaginary? A lot of Ara’s friends were imaginary, so that was a point in his favour.

Either way, she had the overwhelming feeling she could trust him.

She took a deep breath, then nodded.

She had thought he would climb the tree quickly and easily, but it actually took him a few tries and a few falls to make it to the branch alongside her. He sat on the great bough - not too close - swinging his legs in the empty air and humming to himself quietly as Ara watched, apparently quite at ease.  

She watched him for a while, a little unnerved, but no longer crying.

Just as she was about to ask a question, Zeno turned to her, a solemn look in his eyes. “Zeno knows” he said.

“…..Huh?”

“Zeno knows what it feels like.” He took a small breath. “To miss someone who’s gone. You… ah… Ryokuryuu feels like she doesn’t want to carry on and doesn’t know where to go even if she did, right?”

Ara caught her breath. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but it seemed that, imaginary or not, Zeno understood. “Mm-hmm” she mumbled, making an effort to contain her tears for a moment, before letting out a wail. “I miss Mama!”

Before she knew what was happening, he had scooted up along the branch, and his skinny arms were tentatively going around her, holding her close.

It felt nice, Ara thought.

Not like hugging Mama, of course; nothing could be quite like that. Nothing ever again. But his stiff golden hair brushed her cheek, tickling her skin, and he smelled of earth and forest and good, familiar travel-smells, and he was very warm to the touch.

Ara’s hands slowly went up around him to hold him back, and he let her cry into his shoulder for a long time as they sat huddled together in the crook of the tree, and afterwards she still felt sad, but now it didn’t feel like it would choke her quite so much. She felt sad in an empty, tired sort of way now, as though all everything inside her had flowed out of her with her tears.

There would be more to come, she knew. But now, in Zeno’s arms, she felt like she could breathe again.

It was getting dark, and she also felt sleepy. “Zeno” she said, just as she began to drift off, his hand carding through her hair in a way that was very comforting. “I’m going to find it… the green light. I promised Mama…. and I’m going to do it…”

Just before she closed her eyes, she saw him smile. “Zeno knows” he said.


	13. Every road leads back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for depiction of an abusive relationship in this chapter.

Miju sat with her back to the rough bark of the tree, tilting her head back against its wide trunk, her bonds chafing at her wrists and around her body. She couldn’t move, very much though; all she could really do was lean her head back to look up at the sky - just enough to watch the eastern horizon turn bright with the dawn - and wonder how it had come to this.

It had been a long road, yes, but until tonight it had been a slow one; for so long, she had teetered on the brink, not knowing how easy it would be for her to fall.

As easy as looking into the face of the child – no, he was a man now, she must remember that – that would have been hers. But only in a different world; she had no right to call him her son, she knew, no more than Ki-nam did.

Her silent collaboration was just as bad, just as unforgiveable as anything he had done.

She understood that now. Perhaps she had had understood it from the moment she had fired the arrow into the chest of the dying woman, as the girl – the other Ryokuryuu, the younger one – had looked on in horror. Perhaps she had known it even before, from the first moment when she had placed a baby with a tiny green scaled foot in Ki-nam’s arms, knowing exactly what it meant.

She was beyond forgiveness, from any of them. 

And knowing that, she must have known back there in the tent that she was dooming herself, with what she had done. So why had she done it?

The answer was simple, really; it was because she had seen his face. So-min – her _son_ \- had looked at her, with eyes that were hers and Ki-nam’s both; and after all, she had never been as strong as Ki-nam was. He had his convictions, his gods that whispered in his head – and his own voices that helped bend what they said to his own will - and the fires of resentment burning even in his cold exile, that he tended so meticulously.

Miju was not so blessed, and for many years now, she had had only a sea of doubts.

Yet still, it had been impulse really. When she had seen So-min like that – those eyes that were hers, and Ki-nam’s, and really neither of theirs, for they were not warped by hatred but had lived a whole life without either of them in it - holding that little girl by the hand as though he would protect her until the very world ended around them and then some, Miju had felt herself act with a strange, dreamlike inevitability.

Sometimes, Ki-nam spoke of destiny, of certainty, of things that would happen because they simply _must_. For a long time, Miju had drunk in such ideas, eager for the assurance that followed him wherever he went. But now, she thought she really understood what it meant, better than he did.

She was certain that had been such a moment, back there in the tent. In a split second, she had doubtless thrown several lives off their course and onto a new one.

Not least her own, she thought, tugging again fruitlessly at the tight cords that bound her. They weren’t chains; the chains were special, they were mentioned in Ki-nam’s prophecy, the one that had started it all those years ago.

The chains were reserved for one person only; certainly not for traitors like Miju.

There had been a moment, there; a moment of silence, of suspended nothingness, after So-min and the girl had escaped out of the tent and into the night.

Miju had tripped Ki-nam, grasping his robe and sending him sprawling to the floor so that So-min could get away. He had lost no time, she was glad to see – though she also had to force back something deep in her heart that tore when he turned his face quickly away, as she had put away so many unwelcome feelings over the years – and the tent flap was caught fluttering in the wind as he ran and jumped into the sky.

Ki-nam had gone rigid and utterly still in her grasp, and then there had been that _moment_. That stillness, stretching out dangerously as the two of them knelt on the boards and mats that made the floor of the tent, locked close together in a mockery of the loving couple that they had not been in so long. With the way she was holding him, arm reaching out to clasp the back of his robe, fabric bunching in her grip, she could almost be comforting him, she thought wildly. Comforting him for the loss of their son, for the second time in their lives.

But no; that was a world that would never be. For Ki-nam would never have been a father to So-min; a tyrant, a _keeper_ , but not a father. Ki-nam’s vision was far too wide for such things, or perhaps too narrow. And that was something; if Ki-nam saw too little, then surely that made Miju herself quite blind, following in his path for so many years.

Too many years, she now knew. And so, in that tent she had made her choice, and now she was paying for it.

It was a price she was fully willing to pay, but in that moment when Ki-nam had turned around to her, she had quailed, her heart in her throat as she saw the fires dancing in his eyes from the reflected burner behind her.

She was not strong; she had wanted to beg for forgiveness then, would have if she had been able to get the words to come. But she could not; and besides, even then she had known it would have done nothing. She had made her choice now; the moment had passed, and could not be taken back. Now, it was as though she was in freefall, but had not hit the ground yet.

In other words, she had a little time; a chance to do with whatever she wanted.

So she had.

In that moment, Miju had pulled together all the hatred, the disgust at what she had gone along with, and let it cover her like armour. He had hurt her, yes, but that wasn’t all; she had killed for him, and he had broken her, day by day, leading her along and making her _want_ to follow. First when they were young, with his smile and quick wit, then his iron-clad convictions and his passion, then with marriage in exile and the hope they both had for the child that grew within her. Then, after So-min had been born, and stolen away, and her whole world had crumbled – after she had come out of the black haze that had almost had her fading away, wanting sometimes even to end it all herself. Ki-nam had been there, and he had been something to cling on to, a light to guide her in the darkness as he guided so many now.

She had been better then at selectively listening to what he said, or perhaps only younger, less experienced, more desperate.

And so she had willingly let him bind her to him, as surely as the real bonds that held her now. And if he spoke of getting their son back only to put him in chains, well… most of the time she was able to convince herself that he would not follow through on the second part.

She had been very good at lying to herself, back then. Less so as the years went on.

She had taken all that had built up in her heart all those years, and thrown it into the blow to his face as he turned to look at her with fire in her eyes. It was a short, sharp jab of a punch, precisely aimed, though it lacked some of the power it would have had if they were standing up. Ki-nam must not have been expecting it, for he did not flinch aside; the sound her fist made against his face and the feeling of the blow rattling up her arm gave Miju vicious satisfaction. He always had underestimated her, and for so long she had eagerly let him.

But he had done it already twice today, that miscalculation, and for all else he was, he was a quick learner.

A drop of blood ran from his mouth as he raised his head. For a second his eyes met hers, and she had to consciously force herself to stand her ground, such was the anger and hatred that burned there. Ki-nam’s hand was swift as it went for her throat, pulling them both to their feet and spinning her around with that strength of his – he was not as slight as he looked and far stronger, and above all he was _fast_ , fast and cunning, all his actions graceful and spare – holding her fast by the throat, his eyes bright once more as he squeezed his fingers harder about her neck.

“Traitor” he hissed. Then he laughed, bitter and hollow. “But no matter. The gods have whispered to me for many years to beware of traitors, so…”

“No they haven’t” she spat out, feeling reckless, choking on her words as he squeezed her throat tighter in fury. She felt her lip curl, “Have they? What the gods say to you is so very much like what you _want_ them to say isn’t it….? _Ach_ ….” she felt his fingers tighten, her hands coming up to grasp fruitlessly at his iron grip. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth and from his nose where she had hit him, and there was fury in his eyes, hard and cold, poisonous. His face was inches from hers, close enough to lean forward and kiss; his breath smelled sharp and herbal.

She grinned, face twisting as her hair fell over her face, free from her broad-brimmed hat for once. Still, she carried on, forcing the only breath she had left into the words. “How long has it been since you’ve had a real vision, hmm? Even – ah! - not since _then_ , maybe… maybe that was the only true prophecy you ever made…? I wouldn’t be surprised if the gods have abandoned you for good.” She smiled wider, the feeling of throwing more than two decades of caution to the winds a surprisingly gratifying one. “Can’t you see? I _know_ you. You let yourself forget, the person you kept at your side, hurting me and expecting me to just lie back and take it. Well, now I know your secrets, and I won’t - ”

She got no further. With all his strength, he had thrown her from him in disgusted fury, as though she burned him to the touch. Her head struck against the base of the chest with a force that made stars explode behind her eyes; but she blinked away the haze, pushing herself up on her palms, forcing herself upright to face him. Too many times had she stood still, lowered her eyes and not met his while he had hurt her. She had looked away from everything he had done, for too long; now, if ever, was the time to look.

They circled each other in the confined space. Miju’s eyes fell on the burner in the corner; she could tip it over, she knew, sending hot charcoal across the floor; it might burn him.

It might burn the tent down with both of them in it, but that might be for the best.

But at the same moment, Ki-nam’s eyes followed her gaze; he obviously saw exactly what she was thinking, for a wry smile crossed his face. “Fire?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “You want me to burn, and you with me, I suppose.” He pressed his lips together, feigning disappointment. “How predictable. Well…”  he lunged forward, taking her by surprise as he grasped her wrist with terrible strength, born from desperation, “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to die today. After all…” he twisted her wrist, making her eyes water, a quiet cry of pain escaping her gritted teeth. Dragging her to the flap of the tent, he stood on the threshold with her, under the canopy, so she could hear the murmur of people outside. A crowd would have formed, she knew, and when they stepped outside there would be no going back. That was how this worked; the people listened to Ki-nam, for he had captured their hearts, and to them she herself was whatever he said she was.

He grinned, eyes flashing, “…the trail isn’t cold yet. And tonight has a smell of destiny about it, don’t you think, my dear?” He stroked her cheek, almost tenderly as he had once done. “You can still be a part of it, you know. My time is coming. Yours doesn’t have to end now. I’m a practical man, Miju, as you know. You can still be of use to me…”

She narrowed her eyes. This was his weakness, she knew. He wouldn’t want to _show_ weakness, would want her to defer to him in front of his loyal followers, to smooth over all the cracks.

He was a showman, after all, a travelling charlatan who charmed and promised, made people feel their destiny was in his hands.

Well, she would give them a show, too; she would not bend to his will, not anymore. Not ever. If he called her a traitor, she would be one; silent and defiant, with a strength she didn’t feel.

She smiled back at him, and pushed her way out of the tent before he could do so.  

Sure enough, a crowd stood before them. All these years, their followers – Ki-nam’s followers – had been growing in number, people he had travelled all over the kingdom to gather and bring back with him when he came back to the village from exile. All with a little of the dragon’s blood, enough to tint their hair green, enough that there was a chance that the next dragon warrior could be born to them, small though it was. Those were the ones he wanted.

And he was good at what he did; there were many of them, both strong warriors and ordinary people, craftspeople and families with children, wanderers and rogues, dreamers and those who feared the darkness and wanted to believe they were part of something bigger.

Their people were notoriously wayward, but somehow, he had brought a great many of them together from exile. Miju understood, to a point; she herself, of course, had fallen under his spell when she was young.

Many faces looked back at her, illuminated by the light of the great cookfires, and of many torches. There was a kind of ripple that went through the crowd; they must have seen So-min jump into the sky, Miju thought, and the atmosphere was tense with a sort of anticipation, like the air before a thunderstorm.

Silence fell immediately when Ki-nam appeared at the door of the tent, gripping Miju by the arm. And rightly too; no one went without the hats, hoods and scarves that covered their green hair, keeping them safe – Ki-nam’s assurance went – from revealing their blood right until the day it was to be fulfilled.

Another ripple of whispers, spreading amongst them like fire.

Ki-nam silenced them instantly, by holding Miju’s clasped wrist in the air. “My friends” he said, in his voice that carried far, with seemingly little effort, a smile that set fire in people’s hearts. “My people, my blood. Tonight, something has changed. Tonight, we have discovered a traitor in our midst.” He wrenched Miju’s arm up, making her bite her lip in pain. “All these years, she has been here amongst us, waiting to strike just as we are on the cusp of taking back our rightful place, our home…” he shook his head, as the people booed and hissed, raising their voices and their torches, holding up a finger solenmly. “But, hear me my friends… this is just a distraction. She was placed in our path to test us, for tonight we have received a sign from the gods themselves…” he quietened the people with a raised hand, so that there was absolute hush. “The cursed dragon warrior – broken free of his chains, the one we have hunted all this time – has been found.”

“But my Lord Ki-nam!” someone shouted. “He got away!”

“It matters not!” shouted out Ki-nam jubilantly. “When the quarry of the hunt starts to run, what does one do?”

“Follow!” shouted several voices, another muttering rising up, as well as some cheers.

“Exactly!” said Ki-nam. “My people, we must pursue our destiny, every piece of it, if we are to achieve our goal. And tonight…” he paused for effect, raising his hands, “tonight my people, we have been sent a sign! A visitation, now that we are so close, by the very place of burial of the dragon warriors themselves…” he gestured at the shrine behind them, at the edge of the clearing, and suddenly Miju had a sudden flash of intense memory; she and Ki-nam, playing there as children, bare feet stained by the moss and the dark earth as they had run through the woods. Making dolls out of spare feathers and offcut wood that they had stolen from Miju’s parents workshop, hanging them on the dragon tree with the others. He had been so bright and quick, and even when she was a child she had loved him. So when one day he had thrown his dragon figurine into the stream with a yell of anger and tearing grief, crying about how he hated the Ryokuryuu, wanted to see the dragons gone, she had not hesitated to do the same if it made him think better of her.

She hadn’t understood anything then.

“…Now” said Ki-nam, eyes alight, “now is the time! We have waited for so long, but now, we will return to the village that exiled me, to claim our birthright!” A great cheer rose, and he let it, voice cutting through as the people went wild, “too long has the Ryokuryuu run freely across the lands! Too long has the dragon been unchained! We will oust the traitors, and take back control, as we were chosen to by the gods themselves! My people… now is no longer the time for hiding! Let all the world see our blood right!”

His voice was drowned by the final roar of the crowd; they all knew exactly what that meant, of course. For all around, people were casting back their hoods, throwing hats and scarves to the ground or in the fire, trampling them. Every shade of green hair was revealed, though dark and drawn of colour in the torchlight, as sparks flew up into the night air.

But Ki-nam was not finished, and neither were they.

“My Lord, what of the traitor?” someone shouted, many voices echoing this back, making Miju’s heart contract. “Will she be allowed to live?”

(She should be beyond fear, yet somehow she still quailed _; foolish_ , she knew. _Weak._ )

Ki-nam’s face was solemn again. “I am a merciful man” he said, fingers clamping her wrist with a grip like iron. “So I will weigh all options. Her fate will be decided in due time, once we have achieved our destiny. But don’t fear for your lives, for your children, from this malicious creature…” he looked into her face, so that they couldn’t see his eyes, and in that moment he gave her a soft, almost apologetic smile, as though to say, _you brought this on yourself_. “…The final test of our mettle has been passed. She will not be free to harm you, anymore.”

 

And that was how Miju had found herself tied securely to a tree beside her village’s shrine, as the camp bustled with fervid activity a little way off and morning came, dawn rising up around her as the sky brightened.

All she could do now was think of So-min, somewhere in that sky – hopefully far away by now, and hopefully he had the sense not to go back to the village, for it was the least safe place for him now – and of how things could have gone differently.

But for now, that moment of change was over, and there was nothing she could do except wait.

* * *

 

It was midday by the time So-min got back to the village. He jumped some of the way, rested, walked a little while, then returned to jumping, carrying Ara on his back with her arms looped around his neck, her hair ticklish but comforting against his cheek as she dreamed.

Still he was afraid of how weak he was growing, noticing it more and more.

Soon enough, he began to draw near home. It was early morning in spring and some of the villagers were already working in the fields. Some of them even waved to him, smiling to see their lord Ryokuryuu return. It was a disorientatingly familiar and ordinary sight to see, after the night’s revelations. So-min returned their greetings with stiff formality; everything still felt unreal, a little different from when he’d left here the previous day.

After crossing the bridge onto the wooden platform on its stilts, the first place he went was home – and when had he begun thinking of it as such? He didn’t know. So much had changed so quickly, these last months.

As he reached the door - fumbling one-handed for the ring of keys as he propped Ara’s sleepy weight on one hip - she stirred, muttering against his shoulder and raising her head.   
  
“Are we home? ’m tired…..”  
  
“Yes…” said So-min, the keys in his hand now, though it was proving hard to fit them into the lock in the dim light, his own eyes also prickling with tiredness. “Yes, we’re home…. it’s just…. _tch_ , this damn door….”  
  
Ara giggled sleepily, a sound that cut him to his heart. “Mmph” she cuddled closer to his shoulder, “I could kick it down….” she belied her words by yawning widely.  
  
So-min could not help but smile, sadly, thinking back to the very first time they had moved here, together. “No” he said softly, the door coming open as the key turned at last. “I’ve got it, kid.”  
  
He stroked her hair as he carried her over the threshold of the dark and silent house; she had already fallen asleep once more.

 

As carefully as possible, he set down his pack and bow by the door, then slipped Ara’s shoes and cloak off, climbed the stairs and laid her down in her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Then he lit a small fire in the burner to warm the room, kissed her sleeping brow, and went back downstairs.

After a few minutes of restless pacing, he could bear it no longer, and he left to go see In-na and Jae-gyu.

Jumong was feeding the chickens in the yard when So-min came, and the boy promptly bowed deeply to him, scampering away to get someone with his usual awed, stolen glances at So-min. Was it his imagination, or did Jumong look a little more fearful this time? Well, it was to be expected; So-min realised he was still damp and muddy from his journey, and his face was still twisted in a tense grimace, teeth gritted hard enough to give him a headache.

With an effort he tried to rearrange his features into some more neutral expression. But evidently he was not very successful, as at that moment, Jae-gyu came to the door. When she saw him, she raised both eyebrows at the state of him.

She didn’t get any further; immediately, So-min felt resentment and anger rise up inside him, pushing past her and wrenching aside the beaded curtain that led to the kitchen, where a surprised looking In-na sat at the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, as Jae-gyu glided in after him. He looked from one of them to the other; both looked exactly the same as they always had, yet frighteningly unfamiliar, different from the family he had always known. “Why didn’t you tell me about my… my parents?”

In-na stiffened, her eyes wide as her hand went to the pearl earring on its string about her throat. “S-So-min…”

He glared, anger coursing through him; the looks on their faces were tearing his heart, but he couldn’t stop. “You…. didn’t find me on the doorstep of your house, did you?” their silence was confirmation enough; he felt a choking sob in the back of his throat. “Was everything a lie? Everything you ever told me?”

Jae-gyu’s voice was brittle in the silence as she sat down opposite them, folding her long legs and tilting her head, looking directly at So-min. “So-min. What happened last night?”

From anyone else, he might have taken that as too blunt, but he could see from the lines around her eyes that she was worried. There were dark shadows there too; had she been up all night? Still, he didn’t have it in him right now to feel concern, to be understanding.

“Before I tell you, I’ve got questions” he snapped, folding his arms on the table, wilfully trying to still the anger coursing through him. He didn’t like it; he didn’t like losing control of himself. But he needed to know, and he was tired of lies. “Things you should have told me a long time ago. So listen to me. You’re going to explain some things to me, and I’m not going to say anything, and only after that do you get to ask me.” He hesitated. “You owe me that much, at least.”

Jae-gyu and In-na looked at each other, holding each other’s gaze for a moment, then both nodded, turning back to So-min. “Yes” said In-na. “Yes, that’s fair. Ask us anything you want to know, So-min.”

So-min took a breath, feeling for a moment as though he were standing on the edge of a great cliff, at his feet, perhaps, a fall with no solid ground to land on. “First” he said. “Ki-nam.” He narrowed his eyes at the twitch at the corner of Jae-gyu’s mouth, and In-na’s short, indrawn breath. “I assume that name means something to you, then.”

“It does” said Jae-gyu slowly. She glanced sideways at In-na, a strangely vulnerable expression crossing her face for just a moment, so fast So-min wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. But In-na merely leaned over and gave Jae-gyu’s hand a squeeze, as though to lend strength.

So-min swallowed, nodding. Now that he had come this far, he knew he couldn’t go back; but some small part of him almost didn’t want to know. As though if he left it there, if he didn’t ask any more questions, then everything would go back to the way it always had been.

He had, after all, been happy in his way.

But no, he knew; that would never come back. Nothing could ever go back to the way it was, and besides, he didn’t have much time left. He had to know. “He’s my… my father, isn’t he? And… a woman called Miju… she’s my m-mother?”  He could not help but choke a litte on the word, as he remembered his last look into her eyes, wide and desperate and filled with reckless determination. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

There was a short silence.

“Well?”

Jae-gyu shook her head. “You’re…. you’re not wrong” she said, rather shakily. “But how did you - ”

“You said you’d answer my questions first.”

“Alright” Jae-gyu raised her hand placatingly. “Alright. Ki-nam is your father. Miju is your mother.”

He nodded, slowly. The words felt thick in his mouth but he forced them out. “And there’s more, isn’t there? About Ki-nam.” He thought of the man’s words, the hatred in his voice. _Did that traitor Jae-gyu never tell you about me? Or In-na? Or the cursed dragon Geon, with his dying breaths?_ That was what Ki-nam had said. “You two, you know him somehow.” He looked between In-na and Jae-gyu. “Who is he to you?”

Again, the were silent, exchanging a look with each other across the room.

“Tell him, Jae-gyu” said In-na, very gently. “He deserves to know, and it… it should be you, I think.”

Jae-gyu looked back to So-min, taking a deep breath and raising her head, fixing So-min with strange look. “Ki-nam” she said, into the hush, “is my brother.”


	14. At your side, I feel like a ghost

_**(Forty years ago)** _

 

Three children shared a room, once.

They were four years old. Triplets, but not identical.

Two of had hair that appeared dark as pools of ink in the night-time shadows of their room, the other as green as summer leaves.

Two were boys, and one was a girl.

One of them was not really asleep.

He _had_ been asleep until a moment ago, Ki-nam felt sure. Now, he lay on his back on his futon, eyes round and unblinking as he stared up at the ceiling, his heart racing and sobs constricting his throat as terror clawed at him.

For his nightmare had not left him when he awoke.

There, above his head in the darkness of the room clustered a whirling, writhing mass of green-tinged darkness, seeming to fill the room where the three children slept, twining through the air. It was making a sound that Ki-nam couldn’t describe, a sort of screaming just on the highest end of his hearing; it set his teeth on edge and his spine prickling.

They were everywhere, and more so when the nights closed in and the village fell quiet. There were some nights – like this one – when he couldn’t shut them out of his mind, and even days when he could hear them speak loud in his ears, all talking over each other, trying to drown each other’s voices.

He could hear the clatter of metal sometimes; it put him in mind of chains.

 _Tame the voices in your head_ , his father said. _Learn to block them out. Learn to seek out the voices of the gods, for they will never hurt you_. A benevolent smile, a large, rough hand mussing his hair.

Ki-nam loved his father, but his father didn’t understand. He was a priest, yes, but he didn’t hear much; he didn’t hear the screaming in his ears the way Ki-nam did, drowning out anything that could be called a voice.

Ki-nam heard everything there was to hear.

And if the gods were talking to him amidst all that, then he couldn’t hear them for the noise.

He tried to will his body into motion against the fear that kept him frozen, bound to the ground. He managed to turn his head, enough to see his brother and sister sleeping peacefully – Jae-gyu lay curled up on her side in her futon with her hair falling over her face, Geon had shuffled close to her and was using her outstretched arm as a pillow – and felt a momentary, sharp stab of envy, anger and hurt locked away in his heart. It had always been this way; they were so lucky. His eyes slid to Geon’s dragon’s leg, where it stuck out from under his covers in the warm night. The scales glinted in the shaft of moonlight coming down from the window, and again Ki-nam felt something twist in his chest, his teeth gritted together as he felt hot tears start in his eyes. The ghosts – that was what he had called them, for as long as he could remember – clustered ever thicker about Geon’s dragon’s leg, twisting about his ankle in a spinning vortex of whispering, undulating green, glowing with a faint, sickly-pale aura.

They clustered around Geon; he was always at the centre of them. Sometimes they screamed so loud in Ki-nam’s head that he was overwhelmed, would cry himself.Sometimes the pressure would send nausea washing over him, make him dizzy and unsteady on his feet; he hated the way Geon looked at him then, as though he were the monster, the stranger in the family. Jae-gyu too; she was never far from Geon’s side, they were constant companions who understood each other perfectly, and sometimes he couldn’t quite tell where one of them began and the other ended.

Ki-nam wasn’t jealous, he told himself. He _wasn’t_.

They didn’t understand, either. It was so unfair, the way they just walked through the storm of restless spirits, without a care. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to live without that weight.

It was like his head was wide open; that was how his father had explained it to him, anyway, and father knew about such things. It was like trying to catch water with a sieve. If he could only close his mind to them, then it would be better.

That was what his father said.

So far though, he had not been able to do that; he was only a child, after all. He wondered if he ever would be able to.

He felt a flicker of something in his chest, as he watched his brother and sister sleep, the ghosts writhing overhead. He could feel something in the air; anger, all their fear and rage twisted up close and constricting about his chest. Anger that was not his own, but came down the ages, centuries of wrongs and bloodshed over the dragon’s power that his brother now carried, a sleeping child who knew nothing of it.

Ki-nam felt something tear inside him, his teeth grinding together as his small hands curled into fists. He got to his feet, standing over his brother, casting a long shadow in the moonlight.

It wasn’t fair. _It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair_ …

 _Please be quiet! Leave me alone!_ He screamed silently at the ghosts inside his head, but he couldn’t even hear himself over the roaring between his ears, high-pitched whining wails all around him.

Now, as surely as the paralysing stillness that had gripped him when he had woken – was he really awake at all though? - he reached behind him, to where he knew the heavy, bronze stand for the lamp stood. It scraped loudly on the floor, and Jae-gyu stirred, but neither of them woke. Ki-nam released his breath. The lamp was out – their father had extinguished it when he put the three to bed – but the stand felt good in his hands, the metal cool against his fingers. It was almost too heavy to lift, but Ki-nam strained his short arms to bring it high above his head, its shadow long and dark in the moonlight. He felt detached, as though floating, as though none of this were real. All that was real, it seemed, were the writhing, coiling spirits, swarming around his brother.

 _If he could only make them go away_ …

There was anger in him, anger that was not all his own.

He began to let the heavy metal fall, bring it down onto his brother’s head, when the door burst open, a cry and a lantern flaring into life. Someone was grabbing his arms from behind, an adult, and Ki-nam was struggling against them, sobbing and dropping the heavy bronze to the floor as Geon woke and started crying, Jae-gyu jumping up protectively alongside him, her face red as she screamed at Ki-nam, hands balled into fists.

He was taken away from them, carried in his father’s arms; his father sat with him long into the night, fear in his face.

Ki-nam could recognise it by now.

He always remembered that night later; it was the very last night he was put to bed in the same room as his brother and sister.

It didn’t make the ghosts go away.

* * *

 

Two children, eight years old now – one with bright green hair, the other’s head so dark it was almost black - sat on the roof side by side.

The two looked so alike that one might think them twins, if one didn’t know better.

Not even everyone in the village knew that they were really triplets.

The tiles were still warm from the fading heat of the day, even though the moon was now rising, round and yellow as a drop of honey. The perfect time for sharing secrets. Yet even now, Jae-gyu could not quite bring herself to speak out loud, or to look at her brother; that would make the loss they had suffered - the hole that had opened up in their hearts - seem to real, and too difficult.

Instead she looked down, to the main level of the village’s decking. Built down into it was a rickety spiral staircase, that led down to where the well was built into the earth.

Beside the well sat a boy, hunched over and staring down into its black depths. She could see the back of his dark head dip a little as he picked up another small stone from the pile beside him; he collected them.

She watched as he leaned over the well and dropped the stone, humming in the quiet evening as he waited for it to hit the bottom.

Once, Jae-gyu had asked Ki-nam why he did this. Why collect them just to throw them away? He had given her a strange look like he didn’t understand her question.

“I like to think about wrapping one of the ghosts around each stone” he had said. “That way they’ll be trapped down there forever.”

She had stared at him for a moment then, slightly unnerved. She had been about to ask him more - or perhaps he had been about to say more - when Geon had bounded over to them, bursting the bubble of tranquility and stillness with his bright laughter. Aunt Joona came up behind, easily matching his stride and ruffling his hair, offering the other two children a smile. But Ki-nam’s head – tilted as he considered Jae-gyu carefully – had jerked to one side, and he had flinched back at the sight of their brother, and his predecessor.

And just as quick as that, Ki-nam had turned away.

Jae-gyu bit down nervously on her lip.

She leaned sideways, bumped her arm against her closest brother’s. “Geon?”

“Hmm?”

She kicked her feet in the empty air below them. “What happened to Aunt Joona… it’ll happen to you too… won’t it?” The scales, receding down her leg day by day. The fading of her presence in Geon’s head, her loss of strength even as Geon had grown and become able to jump higher and higher. Her final moments, just today, though it already seemed like a lifetime ago. She had known, Jae-gyu thought. She had known, and she had returned to the village a few days ago. Perhaps she wanted to spare Geon a little pain. Perhaps she wanted to say her final words to Father.

Geon nudged her arm back, softly and almost apologetically. He wasn’t looking at Jae-gyu, but down at the ground, amongst the walkways and houses on their stilts that rose up all around the house of the Ryokuryuu at the heart of the village. She saw his brow furrow. “Yeah” he said. “Yeah, I think so.”

 _How could he be so calm about it?_ _Perhaps he had accepted it already. Or maybe he didn’t understand?_ Jae-gyu was glad he wasn’t upset, but she could not keep at bay the feeling of time passing suddenly; each nervous heartbeat in her chest meant Geon’s life too, ticking away moment by moment. “How old was she?” she managed. _How much time?_ That was what she really wanted to know. But she couldn’t ask that; not in those words, anyway.

Geon thought for a moment, counting on his fingers. His nails were grubby and a bit ragged. “She was four years younger than father, so… twenty-nine.” He hesitated for another long moment, kicking his skinny bare legs alongside hers. His scales were familiar and rough against her skin. “I think… I think that’s quite old. I heard father saying.”

Jae-gyu nodded slowly. “The Elder’s wife asked me how old we were, a few days ago. When I said we were eight, she was surprised…” Jae-gyu hadn’t understood why at the time, but now she did; Ryokuryuu Joona had lived longer than many had expected.

“Twenty-nine” said Geon, swinging his feet again in the air. “Minus eight.” They talked like this sometimes, the two of them; they had always been good at picking out the thoughts on each other’s minds, voicing them in pieces. Sharing the words between them.

(But never with Ki-nam; he had his ghosts and they filled his head, his brother and sister kept at a distance.)

“Twenty-one!” said Jae-gyu, before she could stop herself. She glanced at her brother under her lashes, apprehensive suddenly, already regretting her words. She felt a deep sense of dread, but she knew Geon must feel much worse. She understood at least the meaning behind the slump of his shoulders, the tense, downturned corners of his mouth; she knew his moods and how they looked on his face better than anyone.

“Yes” said Geon quietly, letting out his breath all at once. “Twenty-one.”

“That’s still a lot of years!” she said, all in a rush. “And… and! Aunt Joona told me once, she said it’s not the same for every Ryokuryuu! So… so it might be even more than that!”

“Or it might be less.”

Jae-gyu bit her tongue, which suddenly felt heavy and clumsy in her mouth. She wished she knew what to say to make this better, but then she had never been very good at that. “Mm” she allowed, inclining her head. She wished with all her heart that a new dragon warrior would never ever be born, that her brother could always be there beside her. “It might be less.”

She dragged her sleeve across her eyes, soaking up the tears that were starting there suddenly. “Geon?”

He turned his head, looking at her. “Yeah?”

“I’ll be there!” she sniffed loudly. “I’ll always be with you! I’ll be there when…” she grabbed his hand, which felt the same as always, yet somehow more fragile than ever before. “When it happens. When it’s you.”

She took a deep breath, trying to slow down all the words that suddenly wanted to tumble out of her mouth all at once, and to put them in some sort of order. “I promise.”

He looked at her, his face a little shadowed by his hair, his dark brows drawn together. Then he smiled, clasping her hand. “I know” he said.

They sat in silence after that as the moon rose higher in the darkening sky. The only sound was the soft call of a night-bird, and the slow, consistent rhythm as far below, their brother dropped stones into the well one by one.  

* * *

 

“Um. Are you alright, Jae-gyu?”

Jae-gyu blinked several times, drawing herself out of her momentarily stunned state. “Yes!” she blurted, feeling her cheeks glow hot with a blush, as the girl standing outside the door in front of her leaned forward in concern. “Sorry, In-na. I’m just fine.” She blushed deeper; they were fourteen years old now and allowed to travel further from the village, so she and Geon had been away a lot recently. But In-na was always here when they got back. And each time they returned, she seemed to shine even brighter than Jae-gyu remembered. In-na was a year older than her, soft and sweet where Jae-gyu was lanky, clumsy and skinny as a reed. Kind and effortlessly easy to talk to where Jae-gyu was too brash sometimes, either that or too cold and distant. In-na’s hair was a thick tumble of curls the colour of willow bark bound back by a bright band of embroidered cloth, and she had a tool-belt looped about her waist which had lately begun to curve with incipient womanhood, gentle purple eyes and a warm smile that made Jae-gyu’s heart stick in her throat.

Jae-gyu had loved her with all her heart for as long as she had known her, and she had decided long ago that In-na must never, ever know, or Jae-gyu would surely die of embarassment right there and then.

“Good” said In-na, giving her a kind smile. “I was worried you might be sick. Your colour’s high… are you sure you don’t have a fever? Because I can go to the apothacary next if you-”

“No!” Jae-gyu all but shouted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I mean! Yes, I’m sure. I’m all right.” She felt herself blush even deeper. _Stupid_ , she thought angrily. “Sorry” she said again. “Um.” She looked around doubtfully. In-na was alone for once. “What… can I do for you?”

“It’s Miju. I can’t find her” said In-na, a frown line appearing on her brow.

“Oh” said Jae-gyu. That explained why In-na was here alone. In-na and Miju were only distantly related, but In-na was apprenticed to the younger girl’s father, who seemed to think that part of an apprentice’s duties involved constantly overseeing what his daughter did and where she went.

“I was wondering if…” In-na went silent, peering dubiously into the house behind Jae-gyu.

She knew what In-na meant by that; _is she with Ki-nam?_ Much to the surprise of just about everyone in the village – and the disapproval of Miju’s father - the two had become fast friends in the last few years. Jae-gyu had never had anything to complain about with this arrangement; if it meant that In-na had reason to be around her family and her home more, then she the gods knew Jae-gyu would be in favour of it.

Today though, she hadn’t seen either of the two all day.

“Um. I haven’t seen Miju. Ki-nam was reading father’s books this morning” said Jae-gyu. “And then they went out to the shrine, I think.” They often did that, together. Their father Garam was training Ki-nam to close his mind to the ghosts that had troubled him since childhood, in the hope that it would open his mind to the voices of the gods. Their father believed that Ki-nam had the potential to be the village’s next priest.

Jae-gyu wasn’t so sure about that, some days.

“Ah” said In-na, nodding. She looked almost… disappointed? She glanced around, smiling a little at Jae-gyu. “Well, I’ll keep looking then…” but she hesitated before leaving, her words hanging awkwardly in the air between them. In-na cleared her throat. “It’s nice to see you’ve returned. I… I missed you. Geon too.”

Jae-gyu’s face heated. “I missed you too!”

In-na smiled, looking slightly bashful. “You look different each time you come back.”

She raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was good or bad.

“Taller” clarified In-na, hastily. “And…” she reached out gingerly, as though to tuck a stray lock of Jae-gyu’s hair behind her ear. “Um! Also your hair’s grown. Is… what I meant to say! I’m sure Geon’s has too.”

Somehow, Jae-gyu got the impression that hadn’t been at all what In-na meant to say, but she didn’t trust herself to speak any more about it, such was the brightness expanding inside her. She might do something foolish, like blurt out a confession. _Or kiss her. That would be nice too_. A second later – though it felt like much longer – Jae-gyu came to her senses, realising her slightly slack-jawed state and her uncomfortably long silence. She tried desperately to rearrange her face into something dignified and impassive, as though she didn’t care either way, but her voice betrayed her. “Ah! W-would you like to come in?”

In-na’s whole face lit up with a smile that made Jae-gyu’s heart flip. She raised her hand up, rubbed the back of her neck. “I’d love to! I mean… ah… I could definitely spare the time… if it isn’t too much trouble…”

“None at all!” assured Jae-gyu, her heart singing. “Just one moment.” She leaned out of the door, dutifully. “Geon!” she hollered, directly upwards. “In-na’s here!” Something small, traitrous part of her wanted to keep In-na’s company for herself, but the part that loved her brother overmastered it; she knew that Geon felt about In-na approximately the same as Jae-gyu did – though Jae-gyu was of the opinion that Geon couldn’t possibly love her quite as much, or quite as painfully, as that was surely impossible.

Still though; her conscience called to her, and she called to Geon. He must have been close – he liked the roofs and many struts and walkways of the village, the days when they were here at all – for it was only a few seconds before he came dropping down from above. He kicked up a little cloud of straw and seed husks as he landed neatly outside amongst the pecking chickens, which all scampered away squawking their displeasure in a cloud of feathers.

He raised his head, smiling brilliantly back at In-na and blushing too. “Hello In-na! I missed you!”

“Hi Geon!” she grinned, grabbing his hand in one of hers and Jae-gyu’s in the other, making her heart skip what she felt sure was several beats. “I missed you too, and I’m glad to see you both again. Don’t leave it so long next time!”

As they went into the house, Geon and Jae-gyu nodded at each other in unspoken agreement; they could stand to stay in the village a little longer this time.

* * *

 

The two of them lay in the dark under the stars, a few miles beyond where the village’s rice fields ended. Jae-gyu was looking up at the bright summer stars instead of at Geon, but she could hear him breathing. It wasn’t the sort of slow, heavy breaths he took when he was asleep, either.

The darkness made her bold. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Geon?”

“…Yeah?”

“I think… I think I like girls. I mean. In that way. I don’t feel those things for boys.”

There was a short silence, in which Jae-gyu didn’t breath.

Then Geon snorted. “Duh.”

“What?” Jae-gyu glared at the partition. “I’m being serious! The least you could do is do the same!”

“I am serious!” said Geon. He sounded like he was stifling laughter with his hands. “But you act like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world!”

“What?”

“I know! You’re not sneaky, Jae-gyu.”

She kicked off her travel blanket and threw it at him. “You’re mean!”

“Hey! Stop it!” His giggling subsided as he balled up the blanket and threw it back, and she caught it. “Really though. I’ve known forever.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and began to feel a little calmer. “It’s… it’s okay.”

She wrapped the blanket up in her arms and hugged it to her chest, her voice small. “Really?”

“Yeah. Obviously. I’ve felt that way about boys myself, once or twice, as well as girls. But I never saw you look twice at a boy. It’s okay. You’re still my dumb sister.”

She grinned, feeling better. “Well if boys are all big meanies like you, maybe I’m not missing out on much…”

“Hey! I’ll have you know, being a big meanie is a Ryokuryuu trait. After all, I’m not your average boy…”

She couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing along with him.

After a moment though he fell silent again. “Jae-gyu?”

She blinked, raised her head. “Hmm?”

“You like In-na, don’t you?”

“Wh-what?” she gaped a little, glad he couldn’t see her face. “No! No, I mean… I mean, I _like_ her but… she’s a friend!”

“Shh. You know what I mean. You do like her!”

“I don’t!” she protested, face flaming. “Well… well, maybe I do, a little bit, but even if I… she’d never, ever like me in… ah…” she scrambled for words. “besides, _you_ like her!” she burst out.

 _There it was; the thing that was unspoken between them._ Silence fell, heavy this time.

“Yeah” said Geon, after a while. “Yeah, I do.”

“Will you ask her to marry you someday?” asked Jae-gyu, forcing the words out.

“…Maybe.” It sounded like Geon’s heart was tearing.

“You should… you shouldn’t worry about me. I think she likes you back.”

“I think she likes you too.”

“What?”

“You heard. I… I think she likes both of us. Maybe.”

Jae-gyu tried to suppress the bud of hope that had flowered in her heart at this; nothing good could possibly come of it, surely. “But you… you don’t have…”

 _Time_ , was what she meant to say, but stopped herself; for how could she give voice to that thought, even in the dark of the night with only the two of them there. It was too frightening, too dark. The thought that one day – soon, sooner than she could cope with - what Geon wanted wouldn’t matter anymore, for he wouldn’t be here any longer.

“No” said Geon quietly. “No, I don’t.” It sounded like he was talking half into his own blanket, his voice difficult to make out. Luckily for Jae-gyu, it was the most familiar voice of all to her. “I don’t want to hurt her.” A short pause. “I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

“We’ll work it out. There will be something” said Jae-gyu. She thought then of their aunt Joona, a calming hand on her arms when she had cried, Joona with her solutions to all the small hurts of childhood. Jae-gyu didn’t even remember her face very well; her memories were all of travelling, of learning the spear and the sword in the bright open air with Geon. And in them, it was always Joona’s voice; strong, implacable, never faltering.

Somehow Jae-gyu didn’t think her own voice quite did it. “Somehow.”

“Yeah” said Geon, still sounding doubtful. “I hope so, too.”

* * *

 

Ki-nam was fifteen when he saw his father for the last time.

That was also the day that he first heard the voices of the gods.

The winter snows and hard frosts always took their toll on the little shrine outside the village; and so, spring always found Priest Garam making the journey along the wagon road past the rice paddies to the little glade where the shrine stood. This year – as in the last few years – his son came with him. Not his Ryokuryuu son, of course; his _other_ son, as the villagers seemed to have begun to call Ki-nam, by unspoken agreement.

It was early morning and the air was still cool, but the sun glimmered brightly off the water pooled in the fields amidst the budding rice plants, a brilliant young green. Already there were a few people working in the fields; the better part of the planting was done already, but there was always work to do in the fields. There were raised heads, waves and greetings for Garam; more reserved, tentative smiles at his son. Courtesy, mostly; ever since he had been a little boy who screamed at shadows and liked to spend hours dropping stones into the well, people had given Ki-nam a wide berth, most only speaking to him at all because of who his father was.

Who his brother was, too, and who his aunt had been. The dragon’s blood ran strong in his veins, and that gained him a little respect at least.

Not that Ki-nam cared for such things, particularly. He worked hard to keep the ghosts in his head at bay, but it wasn’t for the benefit of those around him; rather it was for his own sake. He liked his mind to be clear, couldn’t abide the screaming just on the edge of it, and he prided himself on the meticulous control he had learned to put in place. Concentrate on the present, don’t think about the ghosts of the past.

It was hard, sometimes – especially when he was studying his father’s books, learning all he could of the village’s history – but he was determined in his goals. He would be the village’s next priest. He would show Geon. He would show Jae-gyu too, who had no special abilities and yet seemed to think that because she was always around Geon, then that made her just as special as he was. It certainly seemed that other people saw it that way too.

It bothered Ki-nam, more than he knew how to say. They had always had that bond between the two of them; if things had been different, could he have had the same?

Would that have been any better?

He didn’t like to think such thoughts; they made him uncomfortable. Instead, he focused on his studies – the village’s history and its past wars over the dragon’s power, the treaty that had ended the warring of the different factions and families over the dragon’s power a generation ago, the chainings and beatings and the runaways before that – and on his goals. On blocking out the ghosts that tried to creep in through the cracks, so that he could hear clearly.

One day, he knew, he would be able to do it. The dragon’s blood wasn’t the only thing that ran in his family. One day, he would be able to hear the voices of the gods.

He knew this, because his own father had had a vision himself. He knew this because his father had told him, after. Garam had sat him down cross-legged in his lap in his cosy upstairs room and told him that he had heard that Ki-nam would hear the voices too, one day. That he would lead, and their people would follow. Garam’s smile had been bright and proud, as he told Ki-nam what that meant; perhaps he could even be village elder one day, or at the very least the village’s head. _The gods will guide you_ , Garam said, as he ruffled Ki-nam’s hair. _One day, you’ll be able to hear their voices. Your legacy will be with the village for_ _a long time_. He had looked down a little sternly then. _You’ll look after your brother and your sister, won’t you?_

Ki-nam had opened his eyes wide, and nodded as hard as he could.

He probably would have agreed to anything, back then, he thought now as he followed his father along the path to the shrine, their boots sinking into dark earth, damp from the rains the night before. It was not that Ki-nam didn’t want to fulfil his father’s vision – and obvious hope for him. It was just that last part; Ki-nam was firmly of the opinion that Geon and Jae-gyu could easily take care of themselves. Part of the village priest’s duty was to the Ryokuryuu, yes, just as was the village elder’s. But every time Ki-nam thought of that, he felt a little twist of annoyance in his heart; what did he owe Geon, after all?

What had Geon ever done that deserved such loyalty?

All he had ever really done was to be to attract the ghosts that had made Ki-nam’s early childhood a waking nightmare, all those tortured dragons of the past clamouring to touch their living counterpart, to experience the brightness of the sky again through Geon. But Geon was not aware of the way that they poisoned the very air Ki-nam breathed, the way they worked their way into the fabric of his mind so that he could barely hear his own thoughts for their screams.

It was so _unfair_ , he still thought sometimes. Ki-nam had fought so hard all his life to block them out, but Geon didn’t have any sensitivity to them. Nor did Jae-gyu; the two of them were so untethered by the past, unaffected by it. They had the world, and they had each other.

Such freedom was unknown to Ki-nam.

Still, Ki-nam knew what he was, and what he was not. He was fifteen, and he had never really known the kind of closeness that his siblings shared. And he had his father, and his aspirations. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted to have a moment of clarity, control. He wanted his father’s prophecy to come true.

He wanted to hear the voices of the gods.

And so he worked diligently, learned his history and helped his father with the shrine and quietly memorised all the prayers and offerings that a priest must know. He was learning to fight with a sword, too; not because he was naturally skilled at it, or ever would be likely to need the skill – his brother was Ryokuryuu after all, and his sister was already said by many to be the best spearwoman since Ryokuryuu Joona, and that was without the power of a dragon – but he found it cleared his mind. He enjoyed the sharp focus it brought, refining his technique with a a little more precision each day.

He didn’t speak much to the other children of his age, and he liked it that way. Except for Miju. She was different; she had always understood him, more than any others had. The others were all fascinated by Geon, and even Jae-gyu drew sometimes stares by basking in her proximity to him, though she was more oblivious to them. But Miju didn’t care about the dragon’s power, didn’t care that Ki-nam was quiet and solitary and focussed. She had always stuck close to him with a kind of fascination, and listened wide-eyed as he told her about the ghosts in his head. She didn’t hear or see them herself, but somehow, he thought, she still felt like she understood.

Recently, they had shared a shy kiss or two by the side of the river where they had played as children. They hadn’t talked about it; it was just something that had happened, their damp, muddy fingers intertwining as they sat with their bare feet in the dark water. Their lips meeting clumsily, each of them exploring uncharted territory. Something hitching in his chest as she had made a little sound against his lips, his face heating as they jumped stiffly apart at the rustling of some forest bird behind them, then slowly began to grow more comfortable with each other.

It had happened a few times now, their hands straying ever further each time, and yet they had never spoken about it; after all, their wasn’t much to speak about. It didn’t feel like anything like the flowery tales of great tragic loves he had heard of before. It wasn’t even really about Miju particularly; once, he knew, he wouldn’t have let her touch him, wouldn’t have let anyone come so close.

But Ki-nam had to admit, it was nice.

He was just thinking about that – a small smile on his face as he stared down at the ground at his father’s heels – when they reached the shrine. Together they offered a quick prayer to the gods, before setting to the business of cleaning away the dead leaves that had blown in and rotted, and fixing the roof now that the winter snow had melted. Once, several years back, bandits had tried to raid the place; not that there was much to take, but the offerings of food, drink and incense that people left had been taken, the empty dish to hold sake and the jar of withered flowers smashed to the floor.

Ki-nam had felt anger coil within him, but his father – Garam was always a patient man – had simply gone about the task of returning everything to its right place, with a shake of his head and a quiet word that he must warn Geon and Jae-gyu to take care of themselves on their travels, if such people were growing so bold on the roads. Ki-nam had helped his father clean up and restore the offerings and the statues, and to salvage what he could of the broken vessels, to replace the flowers with fresh ones. As they had worked, he had felt the tight knot of nervousness in him ease, just a little.

It was often like that. When he worked on mundane tasks, Ki-nam could organise his thoughts better, and somehow this place was one of tranquility, here in the little glade in the woods, just before the rice fields began and the village came into sight. It was a calm place; he thought if ever he felt close to the gods, it was here.

It was his father’s place, most of all. Garam hummed quietly under his breath as he collected dead branches that had fallen from the dragon tree in the wind, tying their small figurines back onto the tree’s living branches with meticulous care. The tree had always made Ki-nam a little nervous, amidst the calm of this place; something about the way the figurines swung in the wind reminded him of the rustling ghosts of his childhood. But his father liked it here, and that was enough for Ki-nam.

Moments that change one’s life entirely, he would think later, never come when one expects them to.

As he swept the flagstones outside the shrine, his mind was elsewhere, as usual. He was trying to relax, to settle his thoughts and open his mind. _Please, let it be today. Let it be now_.

He concentrated, and he cast his mind up to the sky, from his calm, solid base. _Speak to me,_ he begged. _Tell me about what is held in store for the village. Let me hear your words_.

Before today, it had never worked.

One moment, he was standing. The next he was aware, he was falling with time stretching and slipping about him, a voice speaking words he could only half understand. They were growing clearer by the moment though. He saw images too; many at once. Raging fires and a figure in flight, silhouetted against the moon. Clashing weapons and blood. Familiar faces, twisted with pain. Some that he didn’t recognise at all. He looked down at his own hand; there was a sword there, though he hadn’t brought one with him today. There were people all around, faces upturned to see him, wonder in their eyes. He felt himself open his mouth, a great voice rising up in his throat even as the words resounded deafeningly in his head.

 _There will come a dragon who breaks the chain unbroken. The one who breaks the chain will fly to a sky of fire. Then the village’s task will be over, for all the world will change_.

What did that mean?

Ki-nam didn’t have time to think; he was already beginning to black out, his vision blurring as his body pitched forward, knees giving way. Very dimly, he could hear his father’s voice crying out, feel someone holding him, keeping him from slipping to the ground. No, no, he couldn’t lose that connection, now that he’d found it. He struggled to raise his head; it was too much, some part of him knew; it felt almost like the ghosts when he was a child. He should learn to control it first, but the part of him that had longed for this for so long ignored that. So he threw his mind back, towards the receding voices of the gods, pushing harder and harder. It _hurt_ , but he pushed for it still.

A flash of flame ripped through his mind, a shrieking; then he was lying on the ground again, on the cold earth before the shrine. On his back this time; time must have passed in between, he thought, as his father wasn’t holding him anymore.

Where was his father? Ki-nam tried to raise his head, to look for him.

He caught his breath.

Standing in front of him, silhouetted against the brightness of a spring day, was his father, his smoothed wooden staff held in the guard position as he shielded Ki-nam’s weakened body.

Around him were a circle of people dressed in ragged clothes, furs and odd pieces of armour, with weapons held aloft.

 _Bandits? Raiders?_ He couldn’t see their faces, but a woman had a sword held up to his father’s chest.

“ _Are you the priest?”_

“ _The priest’s son is the one with the power, according to our informant.”_

“ _Is that the boy?”_

“ _That’s got to be him!”_

“ _Step aside old man, or we’ll cut you open!”_

Ki-nam felt panic take him then; no, no, he had to try to stand, to talk his way out, to tell them they were wrong. It was his brother they were looking for. Not his father. They might kill Ki-nam anyway, but he had to try.

But he couldn’t; he still felt too weak.

_Father!_

“ _Step aside, priest. I’m warning you…”_

With tear-blurred vision – his own now, not the visions put in his head by the gods – he saw his father step forward, raise his staff. “No. I won’t let you hurt my son.”

Ki-nam forced himself to sit up, raising his head and dragging himself up to his feet as he watched the woman with the sword slash at his father with a great blow.

Then he saw the man standing at her side; with a shock, he realised there was a touch of green in his hair.

He must have told them of the dragon’s power… there were plenty of their people out there in the world, after all.

_What of the one who broke the chain?_

The thought swam into his mind, from he knew now where.

“Ki-nam!” he heard his father shout, as he parried another blow. “Run back to the fields, get help!”

“I can fight!” he shouted, belying his words by almost falling over his feet, trembling hand going for a sword that wasn’t there.

“No!” his father blocked another blow, pushing Ki-nam into the forest. “We can’t let them reach the village. Bring help!”

“Father…”

“ _Now!_ ”

And then, Ki-nam had done something that he would regret for the rest of his life.

He had obeyed his father, and run back to get help.

When he returned to the clearing with the shrine though, there were no more bandits left to fight; there was a small, tangled pile of bodies, blood seeping into the stones they had so meticulously cleaned, just this spring morning. The rest of the bandits must have run off; they never did find them again.

But amongst the corpses was the body of Garam, his staff broken, lying at the foot of the dragon tree.

Ki-nam felt himself slip to his knees, mind roiling with anger and shock, ghosts and gods and dragons suddenly forgotten in this moment.

 _Geon_ , was all he could think. _It was him they wanted._

_Their father was dead and it was Geon’s fault._

And just as quickly as that, Ki-nam’s life had changed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from the song [Evelyn, Evelyn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pixkuUL9LgU), which gives me a lot of Geon and Jae-gyu feelings, but I felt this line also works for Ki-nam.


	15. The one who breaks the chain

“Your… your brother?” So-min blinked in surprise; he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. “But Geon… your twin…”

“No… not _twin_ ” said Jae-gyu through gritted teeth, as though the word gave her pain to voice. “We were… triplets. After… well, everything that happened with Ki-nam, Geon and I decided… people had always assumed we were twins. So we started calling ourselves that too.”

“…Slow down. You still haven’t told me anything, really.” So-min narrowed his eyes; he didn’t understand any of this, but there was clearly something under the surface here. Something old but still as painful as ever. “ _Why?_ ” He gestured desperately in the air, looking between the two of them helplessly. In-na reached forward to try to take his hand, but he pulled back. “What happened back then?”

Jae-gyu sighed, making eye contact with In-na as she tugged distractedly at her single earring, the bright violet pearl catching the light between her restless fingers. “It’s… quite a long story.”

So-min felt frustrated anger boil up to the surface, sudden and fierce. He slammed his fist on the table, hard enough to hurt. “Well tell it then! I don’t care! I want to know. I want to know everything.”

“He needs to know” said In-na, very quietly. And then, even quieter, more sorrowful, “remember… Joona.”

 _Joona? What did she have to do with all this?_ So-min watched, perplexed, and was just about to speak again when Jae-gyu closed her eyes, slowly, then opened them again, drawing a long, even breath and nodding.

“Alright.” She shifted, unconsciously adopting the voice of storytelling she had sometimes used when he and Joona were children. But the look in her eyes was the farthest from that slight, indulgent curve of a smile as he could possibly imagine. “Right from the beginning, then. We three… I believe now that Geon, Ki-nam and I were cursed from the start; our mother died giving birth to the three of us. A sadly ordinary sort of curse at first, perhaps, but…” she tailed off.

“Oh” said So-min, a little awkwardly. He had known that already, he thought, but it still caught him off-guard. “…Sorry.”

Jae-gyu shook her head, with a regretful smile. “Ryokuryuu pregnancies are always more dangerous -” she leveled a glance at In-na, “- but triplets too… Ki-nam was born last, and for a long time they thought he would die too. But in the end, he lived.” Jae-gyu sighed, something flickering across her face, too quickly for So-min to see. “Anyway. We never knew our mother, Hyeong, but our father and our aunt missed her every day.” She looked up at him. “Our aunt, our father’s sister was the closest thing Geon and I ever had to a mother. You’ve heard of her” she smiled slightly. “Her name was Joona, and she was Geon’s predecessor as Ryokuryuu.”

So-min nodded; he could remember being told once that Joona had been named for a great dragon warrior of the past. But then he frowned. “The closest thing _you and Geon_ had to a mother… didn’t… your other brother… Ki-nam…?” he still couldn’t quite find it in him to voice the words _my_ _father_. The concept was too new, it felt wrong and strange, like clothes that didn’t fit quite right.

“He… no, Joona was never that to him.” She hesitated. “You have to understand, Ki-nam was different from us. Right from the beginning, almost. He had the ghosts in his head from the start. They frightened him, made him do things… he had nightmares, as a child.”

“…Like I did?”

She looked up at So-min with a rather sharp glance. “Yes… but worse. Much worse. It was the ghosts he was hearing, but I only learned that later; even when I did, it didn’t make it easier to understand.”

“I see.” So-min thought of all the nights of his childhood, his old habit of sleepwalking. There had been ghosts too; there still were, the whole village sometimes seemed heavy with them in the dark of the night. Faint, green presences, just on the edge of his vision.

Jae-gyu carried on telling her story. “Ki-nam was troubled by Ryokuryuu ghosts; that was the reason for it. All those years of bloodshed, before the peace was made; this place is full of them, I suppose. And once he tried to… to hurt Geon…” she shook her head. “When we were four years old, he tried to hit Geon with a lamp stand in the night, as he slept. Thankfully he could barely lift it, but if Father hadn’t heard the sounds and come running…” she let the sentence tail off. “After that he was kept away from Geon and I, to keep us safe. And that was when our paths began to separate.” She sighed. “Father was the village priest at the time, and he began training Ki-nam to keep the voices of the ghosts at bay. Partly to make Ki-nam’s life easier, but more than that, he was convinced that Ki-nam would be able hear the gods too one day, clearer and stronger than father himself ever could. Father was a good teacher though. I don’t blame him at all for what happened later.” She bit her lip. “And Ki-nam loved father; he loved him so, so much. We did too, we always did, but we didn’t spend our time learning at his side.”

“No?”

“No. Aunt Joona took Geon under her wing – he wanted to learn how to use his power to fight, and he wanted to travel, and to fly, and to see everything there was to see in the whole world…” So-min could see her smiling very faintly. “And me, I was given a choice, to stay with Ki-nam and father, or to have Joona be my mentor too, to teach me to fight, and to and travel alongside her and Geon.”

“You picked Joona and Geon.” It was not a question.

Jae-gyu nodded. “How could I choose otherwise? Anyway, she trained us in her final years, and we were…” she frowned a little. “We were happy, then. We loved Joona, and we looked up to her, and her teaching us everything she knew was… so perfect.”

So-min knew what was coming next. He knew from the note in her voice, her frown. He knew because it was inevitable; because his own destiny was so close at his heels. “But then she died.”

Jae-gyu nodded, slowly. “We were eight. And after, we didn’t know what to do; we couldn’t travel with father, as he was busy being the village’s priest, busy teaching Ki-nam. But we wanted to leave; Joona had raised us to be so very… well, _free_. So as soon as Father would let us… I think we were about thirteen? We started travelling alone again, further and further, until eventually we only came back for short periods of time. People in the village began to get used to it, though of course the older generations still remembered the times when the dragons were too valuable to the leaders of the warring clans to be allowed to travel. But we were a new generation; things were different now. We had never known any different. Sometimes it even felt as though we were just… ordinary, almost.”

At that point, In-na reached over and grasped Jae-gyu’s hand, with a slight smile. “Well, I never found them ordinary. And I was always glad to see them both when they returned.”

Jae-gyu really did smile then, a little bittersweetly, though she still let her thumb run over the back of In-na’s work-roughened hand. “Ah, but really only _I_ was ordinary.” She said. “Both of my brothers were very _extra_ ordinary, and there was only so long that we could forget that for.”

“What happened?”

“…Our father was killed” said Jae-gyu simply, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were filled with sorrow and pain, still raw after all this time. “By bandits. They were hunting the Ryokuryuu, led to the village on rumours spread by people on the road. People with dragon’s blood, and a little green in their hair. Allowing our people to travel at will always had its price; they talk, and news of the power gets out. And… our people have always drawn together to protect the Ryokuryuu if they cannot protect themselves, but this time, they caught father alone, tending to the shrine. Or… not quite alone. Ki-nam was with him.”

“The shrine…” So-min thought back to the previous evening, seeing Ki-nam standing by the shrine with his arms upraised, lit by the flickering light of fires and torches. His words lifting in the night air, the cries of the people who followed him.

“Yes” said Jae-gyu. “Neither Geon nor I could ever forgive ourselves for that. They came for Geon, who wasn’t there, but father… he… he was killed, fighting to defend Ki-nam I suppose. I… don’t know exactly what happened that day – no one did – but when Ki-nam came back, he was… different.”

“Different?”

She nodded. “Afterwards, he could hear the gods. And he was so _strong_ , so driven, unflinching. That was how he grieved, I suppose… it was different for Geon and I. We travelled even more than we had before, only coming back for In-na.”

“And I lived for the days I would see those two again” said In-na, taking up the story. “I was very much in love,” she laughed nervously. “With both of them, actually, and stubborn enough to believe that love was all that mattered, that nothing could ever hurt me or go too far wrong, as long as I had that.” She sighed. “But in truth, the atmosphere in the village was changing, and it was because of Ki-nam. He was different than his father, as the priest. He wanted to… take control more than a priest ever had before. He wanted to control the Ryokuryuu, specifically. You see, he… he had made a prophecy. Well, he had made a lot of those, but there was one specifically, that he told everyone of. A message, from the gods. He always wanted so badly to know the future of the village, of our people, and that was what the prophecy was about. That, and… about the line of the Ryokuryuu.”

“A… a message?”

In-na nodded, the silence lying heavy all around. She was hesitating, So-min realised, as she exchanged another look with Jae-gyu. The words she was about to say had weight and power, in both their hearts at the very least. “There will come a dragon who breaks the chain unbroken” she said, her words solemn, resounding, “The one who breaks the chain will fly to a sky of fire. Then the village’s task will be over, for all the world will… change.”

There was silence for a few, long moments. “What does it mean?” asked So-min.

Jae-gyu let out a quiet sound, almost a bitter laugh. “What indeed?”

“The one who breaks the chain…” So-min’s mind was racing; those words were familiar to him; the last time he had heard them it had been his father’s voice speaking them, fierce and urgent, with a disturbing light in his eyes. “It’s talking about a particular Ryokuryuu.” He frowned. “But chains… no one has kept the dragons chained up in decades! Not since the treaty, and the ending to the clan system!”

“No” said In-na. “No they haven’t.” She sighed, looking up at him, with an expression that took him by surprise. “What do you think it means, So-min?”

“Me?” he said. “Ah… I don’t know.” He could feel his heart beating nervously, quick as a trapped bird’s wings. “It could mean… a real, literal chain, or…” he frowned. “Something else?”

“Personally, I always thought the same way. I thought it might mean a chain of succession” said In-na. “But there’s been plenty of times the parent-to-child bloodline of the Ryokuryuu has been broken, and there’s been an indirect succession… so it’s probably not quite that simple.”

“Hmm. What about the last part… the _end of the village’s task_ … does that mean something bad is coming?”

“Ki-nam certainly thought so” said Jae-gyu, slightly wearily. “And in this case, what he thought of the message mattered more than what the gods really intended. Right from the start, that was all that mattered.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thought – and I think he genuinely believed it – that it meant that freedom of the dragons was a threat the village. Specifically, Geon’s freedom. He believed that now that the chains of the past were left behind in history, then the village would cease to exist. The fire, he thought, was some terrible cataclysm that would destroy our people.”

So-min frowned. “But it doesn’t say that. It might mean something different.”

Jae-gyu smiled, sadly, and there was something almost like relief in her eyes, he thought. “You’re quite right, of course. But what you have to understand, So-min, was that it didn’t really matter in the end, what it really meant. What did the damage was how Ki-nam interpreted it, and what he did next. You see, he _hated_ Geon. He hated me, too, but only because of our brother. After father’s death especially, he hated everything about the dragon’s blood, and saw it as a curse on our village. Because the invaders had come for Geon’s power, and father had died for it.” She sighed. “He began to resent us, more even than he ever had before. He didn’t think we grieved enough, even though we grieved and regretted more than he would ever know. Then there were the ghosts that had tormented his childhood, so I suppose there had always been signs, but after father’s death it was different. Ki-nam locked himself away, studying the village’s history, looking for anything that would prove him right in his hatred of the Ryokuryuu. And there was plenty to find; all through our history, our people have fought and died and fought again – often against each other – to either protect or control or free the dragons. There has been so much bloodshed in our people’s past, So-min. So much death, so many tortured spirits.” She raised her head, pain in her eyes. “But there was also good. Our parents’ generation had been trying to be _better_ than that, So-min. We were the first generation that had no memory of what came before. Ki-nam saw so much, but only what he wanted to see. He searched for the dark parts, and used them to fuel his hatred for his brother and his conviction that the dragons must be controlled, until it was too late for anyone to change his mind. But he didn’t stop there. As a child, he had been quiet, keeping to himself except for Miju. But in those days after father died, he began to talk to people. To fill father’s position as priest, to tell people about what he saw, and what he believed.” Jae-gyu looked pained. “And people began to _listen_.”

So-min swallowed, nervously. “The peace couldn’t last” he guessed.

Jae-gyu nodded. “You of all people know that the dragon’s blood calls to the open skies, makes you restless and searching. For many years this sacred right of the Ryokuryuu to seek their freedom had been enshrined in the treaty that ended the war between the families. That treaty also banned the chaining of the Ryokuryuu…. symbolic, that, but still a part of the agreement. But Ki-nam wanted to confine Geon to the village, and the more Geon’s freedom was threatened, the more defensive of it he was. The more he and Geon clashed, the more convinced Ki-nam became that Geon was the one he had been warned about. The cursed one, he called him. _Chainbreaker_. And then there was also the fact that to sacrifice the treaty - as Ki-nam was suggesting, for the sake of a mere vision - could easily begin a slide back into the chaos of the old days. It was…. a tense time, in our family and in the village as a whole.” Jae-gyu swallowed. “The two of them argued. They fought. People began to pick sides. Geon was so…. he was angry, I’d never seen him like that before. Even I argued with him, and badly too.” Jae-gyu looked stricken.

“Jae-gyu, it’s been years” said In-na, laying a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. The two of you were both pig-headed and stubborn…. but you weren’t to blame for what happened.”

Jae-gyu smiled ruefully, placing a hand over In-na’s on her shoulder. “As you can guess, In-na was just about the only person keeping Geon and I together, and keeping us all sane.” She shook her head. “Thank the gods it did not come to my brothers fighting each other _then_ , because though Geon would have beaten Ki-nam easily - his power was at its height then - he… had many supporters, and any violence against Ki-nam - especially by the one that my brother told them it was their god-appointed duty to imprison - would have been like kicking a hornets’ nest.”

“Supporters?”

She nodded. “The thing about Ki-nam was…. he wasn’t just a true seer, So-min. He was also growing into a leader. He was charismatic and brilliant; I’ll say that much for him.” She grimaced. “And as he grew older, his talent at talking people around to his way of thinking only grew. There were many that saw the wisdom in what he said, especially those who already chafed at the bonds the treaty put on them. The people of this village are a contrary lot, it’s in our blood. No paper agreement will last long, especially if it’s one signed a generation ago. And of course there’s always been mistrust for the dragon warriors, hidden under the surface. That never changed, so it was easy enough for Ki-nam to bring them around to his own point of view, to turn a group of them against Geon as their feud grew worse by the day. Bo-seon tried his hardest to keep the peace – he was old enough to remember the time before - but in the end it was for nothing.”

So-min frowned. “I’ve never heard a thing about any of this” he said. “What happened?”  

“It got worse and worse, divisions and tension growing, until….”

“…Until…?”

“….Until he made me choose” said Jae-gyu, with a sigh. “Ki-nam confronted me one day in the village square, made me choose between my brothers. He wanted to hurt Geon, and he tried to do it by taking me from him. He knew how close we were. It would have worked.”

“But…. you chose Geon?”

The moment stretched out; Jae-gyu hesitated slightly, a tiny line appearing between her eyes. Then she sighed, nodded. “In the end, I made the right choice, yes. How could I not? He was my closest brother, the one I’d trained with and whose side I had been by from the beginning.” She looked as though the memory pained her. “But Ki-nam…. he took it badly.”

So-min blinked. “But…. he must have known you’d choose Geon.”

For a split second, In-na and Jae-gyu shared a glance across the table, their joined hands tightening slightly, before both looked back at So-min, so he was not quite sure he hadn’t imagined the moment.

It was In-na who answered. “Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn’t. None of us can really know what was going on in Ki-nam’s head, but the fact is he asked, and, well…” she smiled warmly, gesturing at Jae-gyu sitting beside her. “You can see that Jae-gyu made the right choice.”

So-min nodded, though he frowned slightly. “So he was looking for an excuse to confront Geon all along!”

“Yes” said Jae-gyu. “But then the fight…” she shook her head, with a wince. “Geon beat him…. badly. He was angry; any other day, he would have been able to keep his temper in check, but his patience with our little brother had run short. I don’t blame him for that, but what he did turned out to be the worst mistake of all. For in beating Ki-nam, breaking his arm and bloodying his face and banishing him from the village, he made a symbol of him. He turned many against him, called him a brute for using his god-given power so, on his little brother too. Many…. chose to go with Ki-nam into exile.”

So-min nodded, thinking of the people he had seen.  

“It tore the village apart” said In-na. “For years there weren’t enough hands to plant the rice and harvest it. And many families were cut down the middle. Miju… she’s a distant cousin of mine but I was apprenticed to her father, and we had grown up close as sisters. I knew she loved Ki-nam, but…” she shook her head. “I heard she married him after they went into exile, so…. I suppose she would be your mother, So-min.”

So-min opened his mouth, then closed it again, robbed of words once again by the sadness in her eyes, as he thought of Miju as he had seen her, on the floor of the tent. His feelings were mixed, a confusing, overwhelming web that threatened to drag him down. _You’re my real mother, In-na_ , he wanted to say. He had felt anger before, and it was still there, but the story he had heard had shaken him, making him feel hollowed out, tired and shocked. _Jae-gyu, you too. You raised me as your own and I could never have another_.

But he didn’t say this. Instead he managed to choke out, “how?” He cleared his throat. collecting himself slightly. “I mean…. if… ah…. Ki-nam and Mi-ju were my birth parents…” - and there it was again, that strangeness - “then how was it that you two and Geon raised me?”

Here, Jae-gyu and In-na looked at each other for a long, long moment. So-min tapped his foot on the ground. “Well? You always told me that I was placed outside your door in a basket.” The child of wayfarers with a little dragon’s blood, he had thought; come to think of it, had anyone ever said that to him in so many words? Or had they just let him assume…? “That clearly isn’t the truth…. is it?” _How much of his life had been a lie?_

Jae-gyu raised her head, looked him in the eye. “No, it’s not. The truth is…. we… the three of us… we stole you from your parents, as a baby.”

So-min closed his eyes for a moment, pinched the bridge of his nose, then opened his eyes again. “ _What_?” he was growing angry again now, barely understanding what he was hearing. “Be serious!” but Jae-gyu’s face was stoney, deathly serious. She hardly ever joked, much less about something like this, and he knew it.

“It’s true” said In-na, heavily. “A year before the fight and Ki-nam’s exile, Geon married me to keep me safe, and so that I could be near both him and Jae-gyu. But there was another reason; even though it would mean Geon’s death, we wanted the next Ryokuryuu to be our child.”

So-min’s eyes widened. “ _Why?_ ” He frowned. It was fair enough if he really had been born on the road, left on the doorstep by birth parents unable to take care of him; an act of the gods, perhaps, or some sort of of fate, inescapable. _But why would Geon choose that? To see the child who was slowly killing him growing every day?_ Even as the thought came into his head, he felt a pang of guilt, thinking of Ara.  

“Because of the risk that the child would be born into Ki-nam’s following. There was as much dragon’s blood amongst his followers as there was here in the village; the chance was about even, but any child born there would be subjected to….” she shuddered. “Who knows. The way he had spoken of locking up Geon, his obsession with _the one who would break the chain_ , his desire to control the dragons and bind them down…” she shuddered, and So-min had the impression she was remembering something terrible. “Either way we knew that we had to be the ones to raise Geon’s successor. Anything else would be cruel.”

“So… you _kidnapped_ me? _That_ was your solution?”

“Not quite… Geon and I tried to have the child ourselves, at first.” In-na sighed. “We had actually hoped that…. Joona would be born as the next Ryokuryuu. Since a successor was inevitable, then we hoped that we would be the parents. There was a fairly good chance, given the strength of the blood in both of us. But then in the end, it was not to be. We loved our daughter with all our hearts, named her in honour of Ryokuryuu Joona who had taught Geon and Jae-gyu everything, vowed to raise her well and protect her. But we still worried… Geon wasn’t the only one with a large helping of the dragon’s blood, you see.”

“My father” said So-min, quietly. “He would have had just as much.”

In-na nodded. “Yes. Once Geon felt that the successor had been born, it was clear what we had to do. We left Joona with Bo-seon’s family and went to search for you, using Geon’s sense of your presence to track down Ki-nam and his followers.”

Jae-gyu nodded, taking up the story. “Back then, they used to keep to the lands close to the village, even in their exile.” She stared into the flame of the lamp on the table. “It was snowing that night, a terrible storm. In-na and I… ah… stayed outside to watch, while Geon slipped in to Ki-nam’s camp to find you.” She swallowed. “That part was easy.”

So-min raised an eyebrow. “But something went wrong?”

Jae-gyu nodded, sadly. “Geon went on ahead, took you back to the village. It was quicker that way, and your safety was always our priority, So-min. In-na was covering his back.”

“….And you?”

“I…. ah. I got caught. I had to….. fight my way out. Defend their escape as Geon carried you, jumping to safety.” She looked agonised. “It should have worked, but….”

So-min frowned. “But?”

In-na sighed, long and weary. “Jae-gyu, you’ve always blamed yourself, but….” she shook her head, looking back up at So-min. “So-min, Geon was holding you in his arms, and he had set me down in a treetop to cover his escape with arrows. The plan was that I meet him back at the village. But….” she sighed. “An arrow hit me, in the shoulder. I lost my grip, and fell….”

He caught his breath, understanding. “Your leg? That was how it was broken?”

She nodded.

“You always said it was an accident…. a bad fall…..”

She smiled, sadly. “And so it was. I always told Geon that too; he always blamed himself for going on without me, which wasn’t true at all. And really, I was lucky in that I didn’t fall too far. If it had been much higher…..” she reached over, laid a hand on his cheek. “Oh, So-min, don’t look like that. It’s long ago, in the past now.” She smiled. “And though I lost most of the use of my leg, we gained you…. hmm? Isn’t that something?”

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing at all, simply sitting there staring at the grain of the wooden table.

He looked up at them both, letting out his breath to calm himself. “What happened then?”

Jae-gyu looked down, away from him. “I was… angry. I thought In-na was dead, and I didn’t know what had happened to Geon… I was fighting Ki-nam, I should have turned away but I fought…” she raised a hand to her shoulder, wincing as though in recent pain. “I was… seriously wounded. I could easily been killed, if In-na’s last arrow hadn’t hit Ki-nam in the arm, distracting him. I managed to get out, but…” she shook her head, eyes dark, fists clenched against the wood of the table. “I was so young, and so stupid.”

“But you got out. You survived” said In-na, with such tenderness that for a moment So-min felt almost intrustive. She turned back to him, promptly. “We limped back to the village together, somehow, though I couldn’t walk, and Jae-gyu came close to bleeding to death” said In-na, sadly. “But then when we got back, Geon had you back here safely, had already put you and Joona to bed by the warmth of the fire.” She smiled, a true smile, the kind that made the skin around her eyes crinkle. “And…. in the end… that was enough. The rest you know.”

So-min nodded. There was a long, long silence.

“So-min” said Jae-gyu, meeting his eye hesitantly. “If you-”

“We saw him.” The words had not been the ones he had intended to say; they took him almost by surprise, as though he were hearing himself speaking them from some way off. _Why?_ He had thought to say, or perhaps, w _hy didn’t you tell me?_ But now he had said the words, they all rushed out of him at once. “Ki-nam. We saw him. Ara and I. And his people…”

In-na blinked. “Who…. oh… you can’t mean…..?” She gave Jae-gyu a look that she understood immediately, for Jae-gyu’s dark eyes widened in alarm.

So-min nodded, slowly; he couldn’t quite trust himself to talk.

Jae-gyu’s mouth was open, her face frozen to stone as she exchanged glances with In-na. “He is alive, then…”

“So-min.” In-na reached across the table with pleading eyes, stroking back the hair from his temple almost as she had when he had been a child, waking from a nightmare. “Please. If something happened…” she tailed off.

He dragged his hands through his hair. “We saw him” he repeated. “Ara and I, we met Ki-nam…. ah…. my father….” it still felt wrong.

Jae-gyu grasped his hand, real fear in her eyes. “Tell us _everything_.”

And so he did; he left nothing out. He spoke of how they had found the shrine, the camp, the people they had seen. The speech that Ki-nam had given and what had followed. Afterwards he felt drained and weary, but somehow lighter; he had not spoken so much to anyone in… well, he didn’t even know how long.

Finally, he told them what Ara had told him on the road, and watched with pain in his heart as they exchanged horrified glances.

“Joona…” said In-na, after a short silence. “He…. Ki-nam…. killed Joona?” her voice trembled, her face more quizzical than anything, as though she couldn’t make sense of it. So-min could hardly blame her.

“He’ll pay” growled Jae-gyu, her hands clenching into fists once more on the table. There was darkness in her eyes, old, smouldering anger. Was this what she worked so hard every day to conceal beneath a mask? “I’ve waited nearly twenty-four years to have another chance to face him and now - ”

“Jae-gyu!” said In-na sharply. “Stop it! You can’t just rush out and fight him.”

“I can.” She gritted her teeth. “I’ll kill him.”

“You can’t!” In-na glared back at her. “How are you going to find him, for a start? And….” she looked at So-min, pain in her eyes, then back to Jae-gyu. “By the gods, Jae-gyu, you nearly _died_ last time. And besides, the situation isn’t what it was back then. There’s… so much more to lose now.”

So-min realised that she was talking about him. He supposed he should be angry about the idea of Jae-gyu wanting to kill his father, but instead he felt almost nothing; numb, he supposed, with the sheer amount he had just come to understand, his whole world turned inside out. The truth was he had no idea what he should feel at all.

“Also,” said In-na, placing a hand on Jae-gyu’s arm, “we need to protect Ara. If she’s the one that Ki-nam wants…” she shuddered.

“Why is it so bad?” So-min asked. “If he had Ara, what would he do?”

“He would keep her in chains at the very least” broke in Jae-gyu, abruptly. “As he would have done with you. Yes, even his own son. Ki-nam believes that the dragon warriors are a curse on us, that we must control them or perish. Your life would have been one of misery and chains, never doubt it. And if, as you say, he’s been gathering the wandering people of our blood to his group of followers in exile, then the gods help us all. He always did have a way with people, to command them and get them to do what he wanted. They will hang on his every word, and show no mercy to his enemies.”

So-min nodded, shuddering as he thought about what he had seen. He could well believe her words were true. Was this really the life he might so easily have had? He had always taken his freedom for granted; he had thought that in the modern age, the freedom of the Ryokuryuu was enshrined in the laws of the village. But the past was, apparently, closer at all their heels than he had ever thought.

“What will we do?” he asked, softly.

In-na raised her head. “We will do nothing. We will carry on as we always have… we will carry on” she said. “And if trouble comes, we will face it” she smiled sadly at Jae-gyu. “But we should not go looking for it.”

So-min watched in fascination as Jae-gyu’s face went through a fleeting series of different expressions, before settling back into a more usual steely stoicism; nevertheless, her shoulders drooped and she let out her breath. “Yes” she said. “Yes, In-na. You’re right, as you so often are.”

There was another long silence as the fire crackled and the wind whistled against the roof, and So-min thought about how even with so little time left to him, his whole world could change so irrevocably and completely.  

Suddenly there was a loud, urgent knock at the door, causing all three of them to flinch. But before any of them could get up, the door was bursting open with a clatter, and in rushed a gust of wind along with In-na’s young apprentice, looking downright harried, his hair windblown.

Jae-gyu stood up, training a severe glare on him, that made the boy cower. “What - ”

“Hush” said In-na, laying a quelling hand on Jae-gyu’s arm, reaching for her cane and getting to her feet too. “Jumong, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost. What’s happened?”

“Please Mistress, I had to tell you….” the boy clasped his hands before him, almost in tears as he stared at his feet. He looked up at them. “Elder Bo-seon said to come and tell you! There are people.… with spears and bows, just beyond the bridge! The village is surrounded!”


	16. No light to see the path by

It had been four years since their father had died, and the village was divided.

People locked their doors at night, now. When Ki-nam spoke in the square on market days, people listened. People gave Jae-gyu hostile looks now, and more so when she walked with Geon at her side.

Whispers were everywhere. Their people were picking sides.

Several days ago when returning home, Geon and In-na had found a heavy metal shackle and chain nailed clumsily to their doorpost. Geon had ripped it down, cursing, but the message had been clear enough.

 _A_ _return to the old ways_. That was how they spoke of it. _The dragon warriors have had unchecked freedom for long enough. Priest Garam died for it. Haven’t you heard?_

Garam had been loved by many. But his son – his strange, quiet son who heard too much and saw the future in his own unknowable way – had brought them together to his side, in defiance of all expectations.

Ki-nam had _changed_ in the last four years, and not for the better.

Jae-gyu ran her fingers over the ragged hole in the wooden doorpost where the nail had been, even as In-na opened the door. As Jae-gyu caught her eye, she saw that In-na looked excited about something; her smile was infectious, almost, as In-na reached out, placed a hand at the small of Jae-gyu’s back, ushering her quickly inside the house. Her bright pearl earrings caught the light; they had been a gift from the family, when In-na had married Geon earlier in the year.

Sometimes, the sight of them was a small sting in Jae-gyu’s heart.

Still, she tried not to let it bother her; _let them be happy. Let them have this_. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know that In-na felt as strongly for her as she did for Geon. They had agreed long ago that they would never let anything come between them, and no matter how much things changed in the village outside, Jae-gyu was determined to keep that promise.

“What’re you so happy about?” Jae-gyu mumbled with a small smile, as In-na stood up on her toes and kissed her cheek.

“We’ve got something to tell you” said Geon, coming in through the kitchen door. He handed Jae-gyu a steaming cup of tea, a relief after the chill outside. Geon was grinning, a lopsided smile that she hardly ever saw on his face. Nevertheless, it was not a carefree smile; there were shadows under his eyes too, she realised.

She knew him well enough to know when something wasn’t quite right, when he was worrying about something. Of course, with the village as it was lately, that in itself was unsurprising. But she couldn’t possibly guess what might be the cause of such a strange mixture of joy, apprehension and melancholy on his familiar features.

She narrowed her eyes, taking a sip of tea. “Well, clearly something’s going on. Is anyone going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess..?”

In-na exchanged a look with Geon, then went to stand at his side. He nodded slightly to her.

She took a deep breath.

“Jae-gyu…” In-na’s smile was warm, yet her eyes full of determination as she squeezed Geon’s hand at her side, meeting his eyes for an instant before turning back to Jae-gyu. “I’m pregnant.”

Jae-gyu dropped her tea cup.

It fell to the floor and shattered, but she made no move to pick it up. She felt detached, in that instant, as though the world was reassembling itself around her.

There are some moments, she had often thought, from which one can never really go back.

“J…Jae-gyu? Are you all right?”

She blinked, looking between the two of them. “ _What?_ ”

In-na took her hands, grinning with barely suppressed joy. “I know, I know I should have told you sooner. But I’ve only known for a week or so” said In-na, moving her free hand apprehensively to her abdomen, though there was no outward sign of any change yet. “I just told Geon. And…” she looked up at him, smiling that nervous, tender smile again. “Obviously you had to be the first to know.” When Jae-gyu didn’t respond, she reached up to touch Jae-gyu’s arm. “Jae-gyu, we’re going to have a baby! A child of our own!” There was something else in her eyes with the joy, something deeper, made of steel.

Jae-gyu barely heard her; her mind was reeling. “I know what it means” she said sharply, almost to her surprise found herself flinching back as though In-na’s hand had burned her. She felt almost frozen, unable to move. Or maybe as though the ground beneath her feet had been ripped away and she was falling, tumbling head over heels in the suspended moment before she hit the ground.

Something must have shown on her face, for In-na’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well. I would hope you know what it means” said In-na, a slight, brittle note coming into her voice.

“Jae-gyu, it means that… with our blood, our ancestry, this child will have a high chance of being… my successor” said Geon, his voice only faltering a little. “The next Ryokuryuu. Remember, we were saying we wanted to keep that child away from Ki-nam at all costs, so this way - ”

“I don’t give a fuck about Ki-nam!” burst out Jae-gyu suddenly, surprising even herself. She rounded on Geon. “And I think _you’re_ the one who doesn’t know what this means. Your successor? And you _want_ that? Are you mad? You’ll _die_ , Geon!”

His voice was brittle and quiet, surprised. “I’ll die anyway. We all will, one day.”

“Oh, _very_ reassuring.”

“Jae-gyu…” he laid a gentle hand on her arm, his voice soft and regretful. Somehow this only agitated her more. “It’s going to happen soon anyway, one way or the other. This way, if the child is ours - ”

But she brushed him off, feeling a little sick as a new thought struck her. She rounded on In-na, real fear closing like a trap around her heart. “And you! You _know_ Ryokuryuu pregnancies are dangerous. You know what happened to my mother? She _died_ , In-na. She died giving birth to me and Geon and Ki-nam!” She gritted her teeth. “And father was left behind, and then his sister died too and he was left behind again…”

“Jae-gyu. Shhh… Jae-gyu. It’s… it’s not like that. All pregnancies are dangerous to some extent,” said In-na gently, also laying a hand on her arm. “But I won’t die.” Again, that flicker of nervousness in her voice as she shared a glance with Geon, so quick that Jae-gyu almost missed it.

“How do you know that? You don’t!”

In-na rolled her eyes. “Alright, I don’t! Fine! But it’s a risk I am willing to take, Jae-gyu!”

“ _Fucking_ … _why_?” Jae-gyu found her voice rising. “For some kid who doesn’t even exist yet? A child that will suck the life out of Geon too?” She gritted her teeth. “I thought _you_ at least wouldn’t leave me alone!”

“…Jae-gyu…”

“Listen, In-na…” she looked down at In-na’s stomach and her hand held protectively over it, feeling foreboding crawling up her spine. She thought of her own mother, dying to bring the three of them into the world; how had it been for her? How had their father felt, knowing it was partly his fault? “In-na, there are things you can do, there’s San the herbalist’s wife, she has…” she cast around doubtfully. “I heard she has herbs you can… can take to stop it…? It might not be too late for - ”

“No. No, stop right there, Jae-gyu.” Geon looked stricken, but In-na frowned, her hand drawn in closer. Protective. “Jae-gyu, listen to yourself for one moment. I am _not_ doing that. I am having this child.”

“Mm-hmm. And what if it’s not Ryokuryuu, hmm? What then?”

“I will love them either way, but if they turn out to be the next Ryokuryuu, then I will have saved them. And if it’s not, we’ll… we’ll try again, unless the child has already been born to someone else.”

Jae-gyu felt horror and disbelief sweep over her. “So… what? You’re just going to keep… having babies until one of them is Ryokuryuu, or one of you fucking _dies?_ Why…” she waved her hands in the air, overwhelmed. “Why would you do that? How _could_ you do that?” _How could you do that to me_ , she didn’t say. “For the next generation, who isn’t even born yet… would you really risk - ”

“Yes!” interrupted In-na. “Yes, I would risk myself for the sake of the next generation. I would risk my own life to protect them from a life away from Ki-nam’s people! I would do it gladly!” She balled her hands into fists at her sides, squaring her shoulders. “And if that surprises you, then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Jae-gyu let out a little pained whimper, caught off guard. She couldn’t shake the forboding that was gripping her though, flowing through her as frustrated anger. With a huff she turned on Geon. “You can’t possibly be convinced by this.”

He sighed. “Jae-gyu, just think about it. The only thing we know for sure is that I _will have a successor_ , one day. You’ve known that since we were children. And with the way the village is now…” he shook his head, gesturing outside the window. “Ki-nam’s rabble-raising, making our people thirst for my blood. He wants to bring back the old ways, Jae-gyu. The chainings and the torture, the control. _Who controls the Ryokuryuu rules the land_ , that was what they used to say. It’s just that same old shit again, but dressed up in prophecy to look like something the gods sent down to him. He _hates_ me, and he hates the dragon’s blood that makes me who I am. And if my successor is born to someone he’s converted to his cause, then he’ll surely take it out on that child.” He gritted his teeth, eyes dark with anger. “And I will _not_ let that happen.”

Jae-gyu folded her arms, meeting his gaze with stone. “Okay, fine. Throw your fucking life away for some child who isn’t even born yet. Abandon your sister even sooner. See if I care.” He voice almost cracked there, but she managed to save it. “But it’s not really only your choice is it?”

“I’ve already made my choice” said In-na. “I told you so.”

“I meant _me_!”

In-na’s eyes narrowed then, turning steely. “You think _you_ have an equal say in this?”

“I… yes! I don’t want to lose you! I… I love you, In-na!” She glared at Geon,feeling the poison in her, but unable to stop herself. “Apparently a whole fucking _lot_ more than he does!”

For a moment, it seemed like In-na was too angry to speak, grabbing Geon’s hand with both of hers, stepping forward, dangerously calm. “Oh, so that’s what this is _really_ about, is it?” Suddenly, there was something worse than anger in her eyes; there was disappointment. “This is not about any of the three of us, and yet you make it into some sort of… _competition_ between the two of you?” She stared at Jae-gyu in disbelief, and as she did one of her earrings caught the light; a violet, drop-shaped pearl. Like a tear, Jae-gyu thought. “I _chose_ this. Geon chose this. And whatever happens is on us, not you. Did you think we’d never _want_ to have a child? That we’d never even consider it as a possibility? Or are you just jealous?”

“You know it’s not the same as for other people.”

In-na sighed, running a hand through her hair wearily. “I gave you the chance, Jae-gyu. Before the wedding, remember? I asked if you would be alright with the two of us marrying. You… you said you knew me well enough to know that I’d always love you just as much.” Her eyes shone. “Do you even know why we got married? It… was partly because of this. Because of the child.”

Jae-gyu’s eyes widened. “You… you’ve been planning this all along?”

Geon hesitated, then nodded heavily. “Yes, Jae-gyu. Ever since Ki-nam started recruiting people to his side.”

“And you never told me?”

The two of them looked at each other. “Well, we thought you…might not take it so well” said In-na.

“I guess we were right” said Geon, quietly.

“Damn right you were!” shouted Jae-gyu.

Geon moved protectively closer to In-na, wrapping an arm around her as they stood shoulder to shoulder. “Jae-gyu, it’s in the hands of fate now - ”

“Oh, is it?” she snapped, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm from her voice as she looked between them. “Because it seems to me like you had at least something to do with… with getting In-na pregnant. Or did that happen magically on its own, hmm?”

Geon rolled his eyes, about to speak, but Jae-gyu cut him off. “Well, I’m glad you two are having a nice time playing the normal married couple, popping out children as though you might not _both_ die from it. So fortunate you stopped to run that past the person who loves the two of you the most!” she shouted that with her hands in fists at her sides, glaring back at them.

“By the fucking _gods_ you’ve got a strange way of showing it!”

“Well, excuse me if I want to see you live a little longer, rather than rushing to knock up In-na with the baby that’ll kill you, and maybe her too!”

Geon pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice flat, monotone. “A successor is inevitable. I’ve… I’ve had time to come to terms with it. And In-na made her choice too.”

“It’s not that dangerous” insisted In-na. “I’ve… we’ve looked at the records, those that there are. I know your mother died, so you may not see it but… there are records. Bo-seon let me see them, and I… I counted it up, Jae-gyu. It’s not as dangerous as you think. Yes, there have been… many deaths of the mothers of the dragon warriors throughout our history. But not all of those by any means are a result of the actual pregnancy and birth itself! In the past, in the wars of the clans over the dragon warriors… there were quite a number of kidnappings and murders too.” She saw Jae-gyu’s look, changed tack hastily. “What I mean is, historically, Ryokuryuu pregnancies are only about three times as dangerous for the mother.”

“Three times as dangerous? _Three times?_ ” Jae-gyu laughed incredulously. “Don’t try to tell me you think that’s good odds.” She grimaced, thinking of the chains nailed to the doorpost, the whispers in the air. “And with the village as it is, I don’t know if we should be discounting murder as a possibility either.”

“The old times are gone, Jae-gyu.”

“But for how much longer?”

“Well, alright. Say that the worst happens, and Geon’s successor is born into a world like the one we thought this village had left behind.” In-na stared up determinedly, folded her arms. “Then you can’t deny that it makes this _even more important._ ”

Jae-gyu shook her head, pained. “But not worth dying for.”

“Maybe not to you. But I’m willing to take that risk, to protect the next generation.” In-na’s eyes flared. “And… I love you, Jae-gyu, but I _won’t_ let you take that choice away from me.”

“Well it seems you’ve already made up your mind, so…” she drew back, looking reproachfully between the two of them with folded arms and hunched shoulders. “I suppose, as our dear brother Ki-nam would say, it’s in the hands of the gods now.” These last words she spat out; they tasted bitter in her mouth, even as she saw Geon’s face twitch into a grimace.

Neither of them reacted with anger as she had expected though – and some part of her, she had to admit, _wanted_ them to be angry, to understand her fear. Instead, In-na and Geon met each others’ gazes, as though communicating something between them without words. It only served to irritate Jae-gyu more. “We didn’t think it would be like this” said Geon softly, at last. There was pain in his eyes. “We thought you’d be happy for us.”

“Yes? Well, I guess you were fucking _wrong_.”

In-na shook her head, voice dropping further. “I think you should go, Jae-gyu.”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her jaw away from them. “Well, at least we agree on that much.”

She turned, pulling her cloak about her shoulders angrily, and the last thing she saw was In-na leaning her head on Geon’s shoulder before she tore her gaze away from the lamplit doorway.

Outside the evening was cold, hitting her face like a stinging slap. She clattered along the boardwalk, her breath huffing out in clouds of steam in the chilly air. Late though it was, she wished she could go and practice with her spear, which is what she usually did to burn off frustration; but she didn’t have her weapon, realising too late that she had left it behind in her distraction, leaning in the entranceway of the house.

She hardly even realised where she was going; her feet would have taken her to her old spot that she had always gone to as a child when she was hurting. The roof of the house, though, was somewhere she needed Geon to take her to. For however much they had argued as children – and sometimes they had – they had faced their worst grief together, always at each others’ sides.

It had never before been Geon who had caused such a deep cut to her heart. Even at the wedding, she had felt only the slightest tug of jealousy, pushing it determinedly down; Geon came first, she had thought then. Let him marry In-na while he had years left. Bright, kind, beautiful In-na, whom they all knew loved Jae-gyu just as much as she loved Geon; her heart was full of enough love for both of them, too much for jealousy to even come into it. Their bond was far beyond that.

But now… this was something different. This was fear and foreboding coursing through her – stronger than it should be, for it was hardly sensible or rational to feel like this. It could still turn out well, she had to remind herself. The two people she loved most might still survive and succeed in their goal of raising the next Ryokuryuu away from Ki-nam.

But it was so completely out of her control, and for her part, Jae-gyu had never been the optimist of the family.

The light was turning to a dim blue and the air was growing colder, but instead of heading upwards she found her feet carrying her down a familiar winding stair now; down to the lowest level of the village, below the house she had left, where she could still see a light at the window. Down below the main walkway, to where the stilts were buried deep into the mud, surrounding a shaft dug deep down into the soft earth mound on which the village stood.

Why had her instinct carried her to the well that night? Jae-gyu didn’t know. She stared down  into its inscrutable black depths, cold fingers curled into fists at her sides, as her anger cooled and hardened into something small and painful, sharp as glass. All the while, her mind was swirling with forboding; she didn’t need to be able to hear the gods to know that something in the village had changed, lately, but it had, the people whispering against Geon and all the dragon warriors of past and future. And now this child… Jae-gyu felt tears drying in her eyes, scrubbed them angrily off her cheeks.

She couldn’t stop thinking about In-na’s face when she had turned from her; she looked more hurt than Jae-gyu had ever seen her. Betrayed, even. And Geon… there was something in his eyes. He knew he was not long for this world, Jae-gyu realised. Now more than ever. This was his way – strange as it may be – of coming to terms with that.

_Had she been wrong to oppose them?_

“What are you doing here?”

The voice startled her, as wrapped up as she was in her own thoughts. She flinched, nearly losing her footing on the damp, slimy wooden boards beside the well. But even as she did, a hand shot out and grasped her upper arm, keeping her from falling.

Jae-gyu bristled at the contact, but when she saw the face coming out of the half-darkness she grimaced, anger flaring up again.

Ki-nam’s face was calm as he let her go, his head tilted and his mouth quirked up at one corner into an expression that was more curious than anything. He sat cross-legged on the edge of the wooden deck just above; she must have walked right by him on her way here, she realised, further annoyance making her face burn. He kept his hair shorter now, and it stuck up in uneven clumps, bound back by a red band from which it was coming loose.

His eyes narrowed a little, scrutinising her.

At that Jae-gyu came to her senses a little; or rather, her anger surged back, all at once, hot and poisonous. “ _You!_ ” she spat, rushing up towards him, pushing him back with her arm up against his throat, against the wooden pole at his back. “This is your fault! Everything’s _your_ fault!”

Ki-nam stared calmly but reproachfully up at her, and a wave of regret swept over her – they were not identical triplets, but if you ignored his hair he really did look very like Geon, with just a touch of their father’s expressions and mannerisms.

Still, he had grown into something that neither their father nor their brother would ever be.

With surprising strength, Ki-nam pushed her arm back. “I’ll ask again, Jae-gyu” he said smoothly. “What are you doing here of all places, at this time of night?” His mouth twitched. “I would have thought you’d be with Geon. Or with In-na. No?”

She ground her teeth. “I’d ask you the same. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I was meditating” said Ki-nam, evenly.

Jae-gyu snorted. “ _Here?_ ”

He ran his hand over the boards, with almost a fondness in his touch, Jae-gyu thought. “I… remember this place so well from when I was a child.” He gazed towards the black, gaping mouth of the well. “I do find it helps me focus on my… purpose.”

“Your purpose to chain Geon and all his descendents down!” she burst out. “You accuse us of being responsible for father’s death, but you’re going to ruin _everything_!”

“Everything will be ruined eventually, one way or the other” said Ki-nam, so quietly that she almost couldn’t hear him.

“Shut up. _Shut up!_ ” she faltered, decreasing the pressure of her arm against his neck. “Do… you don’t know that. Do you…?”

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, his jaw lifting a little. Proud and defiant, with just a hint of derision. “I know what the gods tell me.”

She stared back at him, the moment spinning out as their breath misted in the air between them. A plan was growing in her mind, a plan born of sheer desperation. What she said now, she knew suddenly, would determine things to come. “Can you…” she said into the heavy, waiting silence. “Do they… tell you what will happen in the future…? Could you…” she paused to breath, lest the words come too fast, get away from her. “Could you tell me what will happen? To… to a person, that is.”

For a long, long moment there was silence, as Ki-nam watched her, staring almost through her it seemed, with eyes turned to glassy dark in the dimming light. She stared back at him, defiant. She had said the words already; this night had been full of things she could not take back. She would not back down now.

And then, to her surprise, Ki-nam laughed. A bitter, humourless laugh, that sounded like pain. Well, she had to agree the situation she had just put them in was absurd. “Well, _sister_ ” he said, putting a mocking emphasis on the word. “That _very_ much depends on what you want to know.”

* * *

_**(Present)** _

 

“Elder Bo-seon said to come and tell you! There are people.… with spears and bows, just beyond the bridge! The village is surrounded!”

A long silence met Jumong’s words.

“Surrounded?” said Jae-gyu, rounding on Jumong, making him cower back a little. “What do you mean by _surrounded_ , boy?”

“Jae-gyu, calm down. Don’t frighten the poor child.”

“P-please, Mistress” stammered Jumong, glancing back at In-na, who was looking at him with shock in her eyes. “I didn’t mean…. I mean, th-there are people with… with spears and bows, beyond the bridge and the ditch…. they’re hiding under cover, but there’s a whole ring of them, maybe two hundred…. they’ve doused their lanterns…”

“Two hundred?” breathed In-na, exchanging a dark look with Jae-gyu. “ _Gods_ …”

“Who else have you told?” demanded Jae-gyu. “You said Elder Bo-seon sent you?”

“Mm-hm” Jumong nodded quickly. “He said to get you, and to be quiet about it.”

Jae-gyu nodded, pacing backwards and forwards by the hearth. “Yes, it would only spread panic. This village hasn’t been attacked in a generation and - ”

“Wait” broke in So-min. “The village is going to be _attacked_?”

“We must prepare for that possibility, yes” said Jae-gyu immediately. “It’s Ki-nam and his people, it’s got to be. They must have followed you back. Didn’t you understand what we told you about him?” She tugged at a lock of hair falling loose from her bun distractedly.

So-min narrowed his eyes, squaring up to her. “Oh, so this is _my_ fault now?”

She glared back at him. “Well you have to admit the timing of your unfortunate little visit - “

“ _Excuse_ me? I would have known to avoid him and his if you had only told me fucking _anything_ , once, ever in my - ”

“Stop it both of you!” snapped In-na, cracking the base of her cane against the floor with a noise that made them both flinch. “So-min, we should have told you of this before. Of course we should, it was our mistake.” She fixed Jae-gyu with a stern look. “Jae-gyu, I know you’ve feared an attack for years, but there’s no certainty that that is what will happen. We need to think of what we know. Which is precious little for now, unless Jumong can tell us any more.” She looked at her apprentice across the table. “Can you?”

He shook his head vehemently, bowing several times. “No, Mistress In-na! I’m sorry Mistress In-na! M-Mistress Jae-gyu! Lord Ryokuryuu, sir!”

“Thank you. You’ve done well Jumong” said In-na firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Now, for the time being go to the workshop, bar the door and don’t light a lantern, do you understand?”

Jumong nodded again, bowing twice more and hurrying out the door.

Once he had gone, In-na sighed. “Now. We need to decide what to do.”

“Y-yes” said Jae-gyu, a little shakily. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - ”

“That’s alright” said In-na, slightly more gently. “So-min, in past times of war, as Ryokuryuu you would have been called upon to defend the village. She looked him in the eye. “Are you strong enough to do so now?”

So-min took a deep breath. “Yes” he said. “There’s still power in my dragon’s leg.”

“Good” said In-na. “Now, we need to ascertain just what the threat is, without alerting them to the fact that we are - ”

“What about Ara?” broke in So-min.  

Jae-gyu and In-na both stared back at him. “She’s too young to fight” said In-na, firmly.

“I _know_ that!” snapped So-min. “Of course, I didn’t mean…” he shook his head. “She’s all alone in the house, asleep. What if, say, if there was a surprise attack, right now…”

Jae-gyu and In-na exchanged looks. “You’re right” said Jae-gyu. “I should go check on her, bring her back here. You - ”

“No, I will” said So-min. “…I’m supposed to be looking after her, aren’t I?”

“No” said In-na firmly, making them both turn. “I’ll go. If there is to be a fight - ”

“We don’t know anything for certain - ” So-min tried to break in, but she held up her hand to gently quiet him.

“If there is to be a fight, you two will be needed.” She gritted her teeth in obvious frustration, gesturing at her leg and her cane. “And I won’t be able to do much else to help.”

Jae-gyu and So-min exchanged a look, then both nodded quickly.  

“But So-min…” she took his hand. “In the past the village rallied around the Ryokuryuu in times of war…” she frowned at the doubt clearly showing on his face. “It can happen again. So-min, darling, we might need you…”

He nodded, drawing himself up a little taller. “If it’s Ki-nam, then it’s me he wants. I’ll do what I can. Starting with…” He hesitated for a moment.

Jae-gyu shot him a sharp look. “With what?”

“…With a stake-out. I’mgoing to see just what we’re facing.”

“No” said Jae-gyu, immediately. “If it really is him, then like you said, it’s you he wants. You and Ara, that is. This could even be a trap to catch you.”

He met her gaze with defiance. “I’ll stay hidden. Jumong said they are surrounding the village, but we don’t know how many there are. I can stay high, in the trees along the road, or even from the rooftops of the - ”

“No” said Jae-gyu again, narrowing her eyes. “It’s too dangerous. I will go instead.”

“I’d be better. I can get a higher vantage point.”

“You need to stay in the village, stay hidden - ”

“I’m not going to do that!” burst out So-min, hands balling suddenly into fists, shoulders squaring. In-na had raised a hand to place gently on his upper arm, but he shook her off, all the fear and pain he had been pushing back - holding off on turning over any of the things he had learned until he was strong enough to face them, but maybe now that time would never come – but now it felt dangerously close to rising up and overwhelming him. He felt exhuasted and angry and frustrated; he was dying, wasn’t he? He ought to be able to do _something_ worthwhile with this power, at least once. Especially as it wasn’t just him in danger here; it was all of them. It was Ara, most of all.

His voice spiked in his throat as he continued recklessly. “After all, what more can he do to me? I’ll be dead soon, anyway!”

Jae-gyu’s eyes widened a little, her face hard as stone. She was frowning, and there was something behind her eyes; she almost seemed as though she was not seeing him standing there defiantly, but someone else.

That only served to fan the flames of his frustration.

He had learned so much, in such a short time, and he had no idea what to feel about any of it. Instead, he just felt very tired – he suddenly realised he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had slept or eaten - and fearful for the immediate future, and short-tempered with it.

“If you feared this for so long” he said with suppressed anger, as Jae-gyu stared back at him, “then why didn’t you tell me a single thing?” He raised an eyebrow. “You let me travel, all those years. You must have known there was a risk that I would meet my….father….” he frowned. “And you clearly believe I’m in danger here. Why keep me in the dark?”

Jae-gyu stared at him for a moment.

“Well?!”

“Well….”

So-min had never seen Jae-gyu lost for words before. The sight disturbed him as much as anything else that had been said tonight.

“We had to allow you to be free. We couldn’t do anything else, So-min. But I… I wanted to put this behind me. I wanted it _gone_ , I wanted to never think of it again.” She shook her head. “Forgive me, So-min. I should have told you more, but you must understand…”

“ _We were wrong_.”

This was In-na, her voice soft and sorrowful. “Forgive us both, So-min. We made the choice together not to tell you, a long time ago. And then, after… ah…” she broke off, shook her head, leaving So-min wondering what she had been about to say. But before he could ask she was speaking again. “We… we didn’t know how you would react. So we kept our silence, praying to any god that would listen that you would be safe.” In-na met his gaze, and there were tears in her eyes, as Jae-gyu stood beside her, hand lingering on her single earring, playing with it as she always did when she was listening intently. “And… for a long time, it seemed you would be.” She shook her head, ruefully. “The past does have a way of catching up though, doesn’t it?”

So-min nodded, slowly, looking from one to the other of them. Jae-gyu’s face had softened too, as In-na tenderly brushed So-min’s cheek with the backs of her fingers, as she had when he was a child and had woken from a nightmare.

He didn’t turn his face away from her touch.

A moment later though, In-na was pulling back with a sigh, standing up straight. “Jae-gyu” she said gently, turning to her next. “Someone needs to alert Bo-seon of this… situation, and to see what defences the village can come up with, if it does come to a fight. It’s best if it’s you.” Jae-gyu nodded, quickly.

“Of course.”

“So-min” In-na continued. “You should go see what’s out there surrounding the village, as you said.” She smiled. “I trust that you will be safe and careful. But please come straight back.”

So-min stared for a moment, then turned to Jae-gyu, who nodded once more. So-min swallowed. “Alright” he said, drawing himself up taller. “Well. I suppose we had better part here.”

In-na touched the pearl that hung on its band of leather around her neck, with a soft smile. “For a little while, at least.”

* * *

 

After they had parted at the door of the house, Jae-gyu had climbed the tight spiral that led up to the upper boards where Bo-seon’s house was, her fearsome double-ended spear in her hand. In-na, meanwhile, had turned back to the centre of the village, to the house of the Ryokuryuu, right in the centre where the mound of earth that supported the village came closest to the boards and walkways.

That left So-min alone, and he shivered a little in the freshening breeze, hefting his bow and quiver which were slung over one shoulder.

He let his eyes linger on the roof of the tiled roof of his own house, briefly thinking of Ara, sleeping peacefully in her loft room under its steep pitch. Not for much longer though, he knew. Suddenly he wished he was the one going to her side; even just seeing her, knowing she was safe, would calm the unease crawling within him some.

But no, he had volunteered for another task, and he would see it through, and then return to Ara. He turned his face away, resolutely, thinking of In-na’s parting words.

 _F_ _or a little while_ _, at least_.

 

So-min stood half crouched on the roof of the gatehouse that looked out over the bridge. It was half dark, and despite the warm glow of the gate-guard’s lamp below, he couldn’t see very far out over the road. He squinted into the gloom, wondering if he should jump back up to the village’s centre, for a slightly higher vantage point even though he would be further away.

It was unsettlingly quiet, with no movement and nothing to see.

He could also, of course, go out, across the ditch that surrounded the village’s border. But he knew he had to be cautious, now. His power wouldn’t last much longer; he was already weaker than he would have liked, and the reassuring weight of the quiver In-na had made him over his shoulder, his bow in his hand, did too little to assuage the disquiet that was rising within him by the moment.

He stood up from his crouching position, tentatively, craning up to be able to see a sliver more of the road. He wondered what he was hoping to see; he hardly expected Ki-nam to be hiding in the bushes with a full army in tow. But something, surely; if he had the village surrounded, there must be _some_ sign. No one could be that stealthy, not even with god-granted powers.

Not unless you were a ghost, able to simply dissolve into the ground and disappear, or vanish like smoke in the air.

He was fairly sure that their attackers – whoever they were, wherever they had been all these years – were not, in fact, ghosts. Yet there was something to the idea, he had to admit, if only in the way Ki-nam had seemed to materialise out of nothing in So-min’s life, so recently, bringing with him all the buried horrors of his family’s past. His _own_ past, he still had to tell himself. It still didn’t feel real, none of it did.

He wondered if he would live long enough for it to ever feel real.

 _Ghosts_. That was the thing; his mind kept coming back to that, as much as he tried to focus on the real world. He remembered when he was a child, having nightmares in the dark. Spectral forms clinging to him, binding him down. He remembered Joona shaking him awake when he kicked at his covers or walked in his sleep, In-na – or sometimes Geon or Jae-gyu, he remembered now – holding him as he sobbed, sitting with him until morning came as Joona dozed by his side, wrapped in the same blanket. The warm, comforting weight of an arm around him, the sound of another person’s evening breaths as they dropped off to sleep with him in their arms.

Sometimes it was enough to keep the spirits away.

 _He ha_ _s_ _the ghost sight_ , the adults said when they thought he couldn’t hear. _A touch of it, at least_.

_Let us hope it is only that._

He supposed he understood the fear behind those words better now.

So-min shook his head, trying to dismiss that thought as he took one last look around him; it was still unnervingly quiet, and there was a light mist in the air, like chill, damp fingers at the nape of his neck, making his skin prickle.

He looked to his side, without quite knowing why. Though he couldn’t see anything directly, he could feel something in the air; something that wasn’t the mist. When he squinted out along the road that wound through the empty rice fields, he could see nothing as such; not in the centre of his field of vision, at least. Out of the corners of his eye though; that was a different story. He shuddered, turning his head quickly to the right and the left, trying to blink away the faint, phantasmal imprints that flitted there, pale green and quick and cold.

_Was that what he would become, one day? Would Ara be haunted by his spectral form, as he was forever bound to the village’s soil?_

So-min gritted his teeth, pressing his hands over his eyes until he saw stars. This wasn’t the time to fall apart; he needed to keep ahold of himself, right until the very end. For her sake, if not for his own. _If the village really was in danger, then_ -

A flash of something, in his peripheral vision. So-min flinched to one side, jerking his head around, nearly losing his footing on the slippery-damp roof thatch but saving himself just in time. He frowned, staring at empty air.

He could have sworn there had been something there.

But, he realised, after the initial shock of it, he was not afraid. Whatever it was didn’t feel _threatening_ as such, though how he knew that he had no idea.

There hadn’t been just a movement either; he had felt something, too. Nothing solid, but for the briefest moment, he had thought he had felt a gentle, brushing touch – neither warm nor cold - on the inside his wrist, just at the pulse point. He raised his hand to look at it; his wrist was covered by his archer’s bracer, so it must have been his imagination, even if there had been someone there beside him. Which, of course, there hadn’t.

He shook his head again. Either way, it was gone now. Somehow, he knew that too. He frowned into the gloom once more.

Still nothing. The silence was all-encompassing, oppressive. He frowned, thinking of the genuine fear in Jumong’s face.

_Silence… what did that mean?_

There was something in this, something that wasn’t right.

For a long, suspended moment, So-min stood there, his mind working through the possibilities.

Then, he caught his breath and his eyes widened in horror, pulse accelerating as realisation struck him, all at once.

Then he turned, and flung himself blindly into the still air and back to the village.

* * *

 

The fire in the hearth had gone out and house was very dark, as In-na opened the door and stepped over the too-familiar threshold. As always the mere smell of the place and the sounds that her footsteps and her cane made on the floor was an immediate blow to the chest, memories of the years they had lived in this house assaulting her all at once. This was the place where they had spent Joona’s and So-min’s early childhood years. Where they had spent Geon’s last years. This was the house where he had died, and just a few days ago, it was the house where she had found out about her daughter’s death, and that Ara was her granddaughter.

Not that blood meant too much to In-na. Ever since So-min had brought her to their hearth in the dark days of winter, Ara had been her granddaughter already, in every way that mattered.

 _The gods save that girl from whatever her life may bring_ , she thought. In-na only wished _she_ could protect Ara. Soon they would also lose So-min, and she knew that when that happened she must guard her own heart, be strong for the girl who would think it was her own fault.

And by the heavens, In-na would be there for her. She would be there for Jae-gyu too, who always took things harder than she let anyone else see. Sometimes she froze up so much that she wasn’t able to even let In-na into her head, cold and brittle and impossible to reach.

Still, they were getting better. They had lost so much, grieved so many, and stood at each other’s sides for so long, that they were both learning. They each knew a little better now how the other broke apart and came to heal again; crooked, patched-over and scarred, perhaps, but at least whole again.

Nevertheless, when In-na walked through the silent house, she could practically feel the ghosts in the walls, the foundations. Not threatening things, but sorrowful shadows, fleeting things that yearned to be freed.

The sounds of her footsteps and the clack of her cane were unnaturally loud, making her wince. Something caught her eye on the table, sending a jolt through her once more; a familiar green book, that had been left there just yesterday, the night of Ara’s birthday. It felt like so long ago, for so much had changed since then.

On impulse, In-na picked up the book and slipped it into her belt-pouch. She would bring it to Ara, she decided; the girl had kept it for so long, cherishing it, and it might bring her some comfort, whatever was to come.

With an effort, she climbed the stairs to Ara’s loft room under the roof, smiling slightly as she did so; as everything else in the village was, the house was built tall and vertical on its stilts, and as a small child, So-min had loved to climb and jump and play on the roof, however much In-na had feared for him before he had come into his full power.

The door to the loft room creaked as she opened it, as it had when Joona had slept here too. The sound was so familiar, it sent a renewed pang of memory through her.

Inside was mostly dark, illuminated only by the light from the cracks around the shuttered window. Still, she could just about see Ara’s sleeping face limned with it, still but for her breath stirring a lock of hair that had fallen across her face.

But something was wrong, In-na realised, a moment later. Ara was lying asleep, yes, but she was not in  her bed. Or rather, she was lying on top of something, some dark shape was holding her…

As she watched, a figure loomed out of the gloom, clad in dark robes, like a ghost cut out of a piece of the night. The figure was carrying Ara in their arms, the girl’s small, sleeping body limp, as the light caught now on the scales of her dragon’s foot. In-na gasped a breath, about to cry out, but even as she did, she felt an arm go about her from behind, a cloth going over her mouth and nose. There was something soaked into it, something that smelled choking, cloying. In-na struggled desperately, trying not to breathe in, lashing out with her cane as best she could. But the figure behind her was strong, and held her fast.

It was no good. Her vision began to blur and darken, she felt her cane drop from limp fingers. As it did,   she saw a face loom over her with the last of her sight, barely visible, but she could still hear a voice.

“Yes, that’s it. Don’t struggle… he doesn’t want you harmed, after all. And if all goes to plan, you’ll see your family again, very soon indeed…”


	17. Blood ties

When Jae-gyu pulled back her hood, Ki-nam met her eye. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see her here; that was yet another sting to all this. For a moment, they stared at each other in the light of the taper that filled the inside of the shrine with a smoky, dark orange glow, a sphere of light against the darkness outside, a world of shadowy secrets in which only the two of them existed.

No one from the village had seen her come here tonight; this she had made sure of.

Her brother seemed about to speak, but Jae-gyu silenced him with a gloved hand, raised between them. “We agree terms first” she said, curtly. “If I am to cooperate with you, you must stop what you’re doing in the village. Tell them all that you’re wrong and that they shouldn’t follow you. Call them off Geon - ”

“No. I’m not going to do that” interrupted Ki-nam, surprisingly calm. “Our brother is a monster, Jae-gyu.”

“No he’s not!” She snorted. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that - ”

“I know it to be true” he said, equally calmly. His face darkened; she couldn’t read it. “Even if you won’t see it. But that’s alright. I know that I can’t take you from him. I know you’re lost already. You’ve made your choice… haven’t you…?” He left the sentence hanging.

Jae-gyu gritted her teeth. “If you’re asking me to change sides don’t waste your breath.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I assumed as much. That you were on _their_ side, and couldn’t be swayed.” He glared at her, his eyes flicking to the hand that had strayed to the knife handle at her belt, as though he could see through her cloak. “But that’s not it… I thought you had come to negotiate.”

“I have” she said, raising her head. “And I will dictate the terms.”

“No.”

“…No?”

“No. You want something from me, don’t you?”

Jae-gyu glared. “I want some answers.”

Ki-nam smiled slightly, turning around to adjust the little offerings and the burning insence on its holder, before turning back to her. Taking his time. “Then you are not in a position to set out terms” he said, looking back up at her. “I am.” The absence of feeling in his eyes took her by surprise; with the way things had been recently in the village, the poison and the divisions, she had half expected malice in his eyes. Instead, they were cold and empty. Weary, almost, and the shadows under them had the same shape as Geon’s. As her own too, when she caught her face in the beautiful polished silver mirror that stood beside In-na’s bed, or in the flat surface of a bowl of water.

Sometimes, she forgot how alike the three of them looked.

She took a deep, steadying breath. He was right, she knew with a sinking feeling. She didn’t really have the power to negotiate; not here. Not with the way she had stolen out of the village like a thief in the night, to come to beg for information from the man who threatened to break the village apart, on the slightest chance she might save the two people she loved most. To know their fate, or, if it was at all possible, to change it.

Hers were not the actions of someone with a lot of options; Jae-gyu was under no illusion.

She nodded, stiffly. “Alright. Tell me what you want from me.”

He smiled slightly. She had never been good at reading faces, but his was one of the most closed to her, and now more than ever before she wondered what went on behind those eyes that were so like her own. What strange phantasms, what visions of gods and spirits.

“What I want…” he said, slowly. Again, many expressions seemed to flit across his face. There was a chill wind, and the light from the taper flickered across his features. “From you, now… nothing. I ask no price for the truth, but a listening ear.”

“I don’t believe you. What do you want from me? You’re not just doing this from the goodness of your heart.”

He laughed a little. “Well, what I _want_ … is to die knowing that I have bound the troublesome bloodline of the dragons in its just place.”

She glared at him; he was trying to bait her, she supposed. To hurt her was close to hurting Geon, which was what he really wanted. “Enough wasting time” she snapped. “Tell me what you know.”

His smile was bitter, a little amused. “All I know is what the gods show me.”

“Then tell me what you can.” She folded her arms; her patience was growing thin, and each moment she was aware of In-na and Geon, back in the village. She didn’t want them to know she had come here tonight, if it could be avoided.

Ki-nam smiled a little more, then nodded. Jae-gyu felt the wind pick up and the flames flicker as he clasped his hands before him, letting his eyes slip closed; the light made the long, spider-shadows of his lashes dance strangely across his cheeks for a moment, before the shadow of his hood fell across his face.  

For a long time he simply stood there, more still than she had ever seen anyone before. All except for his eyes, which moved quickly behind their closed lids; _almost_ _as though he were dreaming_ , she thought.

She shivered in the cold night air, wondering what he saw in the dark place behind his eyes.

She was just beginning to wonder whether she should interrupt him – surely this couldn’t be strictly necessary, she had been certain from the start that much of the construction of this meeting and the ceremony he placed around his powers was an affectation – when his head jerked upwards again, eyes flashing open. They were wide pools of darkness surrounded by white for just a moment, his pupils huge in the dimness.

His mouth was open a little as though in surprise or shock, but a moment later, he blinked a few times, his face rapidly smoothing back into his customary almost-smile, inscrutable and revealing nothing.

Jae-gyu stepped forward. “What did you see?”

Ki-nam didn’t draw back; they were almost exactly the same height, though Jae-gyu was perhaps a shade taller. He did not flinch, merely slowly extending a hand, two fingers raised.

“Two paths” he said. “Two paths, still joined together. But soon they will branch, into two futures… the choice hasn’t been made yet.” His voice strangely clear and carrying; she imagined it stretching beyond their small enclave of golden lamplight, far out into the world and up to the heavens. She shook herself to get rid of the notion.

“Two paths?” she snapped. “What does that mean? What are they? What does it mean… for us?” _For them. Tell me In-na and Geon will be alright, oh, gods, please…_

He smiled; there was something in his eyes. Something like wonder. But something like _hunger_ , too, she thought; something like the look of a man who has seen what he wants most in the world, but has yet to stretch out his hand to take it.

_But why?_

“In either case” said Ki-nam, “there will be a death in our family.”

Jae-gyu’s throat went dry. She was wary though; she still didn’t trust him. “Everyone dies, in the end” she said, carefully. “Whose death? And when?”

“It will be soon” said Ki-nam, his eyes fixed on hers. Watching her reactions. She tried to force her face to remain neutral. “And whose death it is… well, that depends on the choice. That’s where the two paths split, you see.”

Jae-gyu’s eyes widened. “The deaths…” she said, twisting her hands in her cloak, involuntarily. “Tell me, is In-na one of them?”

Ki-nam tilted his head, looking into her eyes for a long, long moment. His next word dropped into the silence, sending cold up her spine.

“Yes” he said. “Yes, in one of the paths, In-na dies.”

“Her child…”

“Is Ryokuryuu.” Ki-nam’s face darkened, twisting as though the name tasted sour in his mouth. “I saw our brother, holding that child. He’ll die soon, too. You’re there at his side. You’re crying, for what has passed, and what you know is soon to come.”

Jae-gyu gritted her teeth, trying not to hate a child who hadn’t even been born yet quite so much. She knew there was still a chance. She had to focus on that. “And the other path?”

He smiles, unexpectedly. “Ah… the other path… In-na lives. She and Geon have a daughter; an ordinary girl. And the dragon is born to… another, two years later. So our brother’s cursed existence carries on two years longer.”

She frowned. “That one sounds better…” she said. She could imagine it; In-na and Geon cradling a normal human child, safe and alive, at least for a little while. She herself would be there for In-na, she imagined; she had never thought herself one to raise a child, but, she thought, if it was like that – if the child was not the cause of her brother’s death – then maybe she could learn. “Am I with them?”

“Ah, but that’s the thing…” said Ki-nam, his face unreadable. “In that vision… you are not at their side.”

Jae-gyu gasped; suddenly, it fell into place. “A death…” she whispered. “It’s… _my_ death?”

“Perhaps” said Ki-nam, raising his hands. “As I said, right now… nothing is decided. These two paths… they exist together, intertwined.”

She frowned. “And in the second… where is the new Ryokuryuu?”

“The child is born far away.”

“…And whose is the child?”

Ki-nam stared at her, for a long, long moment. “….Mine” he says, at last. And there it is again, that look, the one of a man who has what he wants in sight, and just needs to reach out to take it.

Jae-gyu blinked, thrown off; of all things, she hadn’t been expecting that. “Yours?”

“Yes. Mine and Miju’s. I saw her holding a child with a green-scaled leg…” his face darkened, but his eyes were alight with _triumph_ , almost. Vindication. “A monster. The gods give that child to us, because we are _right_. The dragons are a curse on our people, and I am destined to keep the world safe from them.”

“You’re not” said Jae-gyu. She felt a little sick, perturbed at the light dancing in his eyes. The thought of this man, with all the hatred twisted up inside his heart, holding a defenceless child, still too young to use their dragon’s power… it felt wrong.

_But then, wasn’t the other future so much worse?_

Was it though? Could she set the price of In-na’s life – and two more years for Geon – against the life of an innocent child, and quite possibly her own?

Was that the choice she was going to have to make?

In that moment, her own words came back to her, unbidden. _For some kid who doesn’t even exist yet?_ _For the next generation, who isn’t even born_ _yet_ _… would you really risk_ _yourself?_ She had shouted at In-na for selling her life too cheaply even then; now, she knew the true cost.

The question was, did she have the strength to pay it?

She gritted her teeth. “And… on this path, does… does anyone die?”

He smiled slightly mockingly, repeating her own words back at her. “Everyone dies, Jae-gyu.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Well, I told you” he said. “There is a death. But it’s not In-na’s, and Geon… he has two more years.”

She nods, dropping her gaze. If all this was true, then this future seemed by far the better. Even if it meant her own death. “How can I trust you?” she said. “How do I know this… this _word of the gods_ isn’t just you making things up, to get me to do whatever you want.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not a question of you trusting me” said Ki-nam. “I can’t say anything that will make you believe me, until the paths themselves are set and the future runs its course. So really, I think we both know that it’s a question of _whether you want to take the risk_.”

Jae-gyu dropped her head, balling her hands into fists once more; she knew, infuriatingly, that he was right.

“This… choice” she said carefully. “You said it hasn’t been made yet.” She hesitated. “When?”

“I don’t know” said Ki-nam. His eyes went distant for a moment, a furrow appearing between his brows. “Soon. But when it comes, you and I will both know, Jae-gyu. It is… a choice the two of us will make together.”

“Why? How?”

He looked at her, and in his eyes was… something she didn’t understand. A curious vulnerability, or maybe an unspoken offer. A hand reaching out towards her, even though his hands stayed by his sides. “The same spear will be held to both our throats. But until the time comes… that is all I know.”

* * *

_**(Present)** _

 

Miju lay back against the tree’s trunk, listening intently. This was partly to stave off the pain and the cold and hunger that resulted from being left bound in one place for so many hours; seemingly forgotten apart from when a gang of children - from one of her husband’s most devout families – came to throw stones at her, call her _traitor_.

She supposed such treatment was what she might have expected. In fact, it _was_ what she had expected; in her years at her husband’s side, she had come to understand that the very close-knit nature of their little band - their _chosen people_ , she thought wryly - that made them so wont to turn on their own.

 _When you bring people together based on their mutual opposition to something – in this case, the dragon warriors and their own blood itself – then of course it would be so_. Perhaps, she thought with a small smile as blood ran down forehead and into her eye, where a thrown pebble had hit her, it had taken this much for her to realise it. Perhaps that was what he did to people, really; made them think that they were part of something high and elevated. That everything they did to anyone who was against them was justified. Just as long as they didn’t question him or his methods at any cost.

So now, she had turned to all she had left to hold against him; she had turned to listening. If she could learn as much as she could, she knew, then perhaps she could at least do something in all of this, before her life met its end, however that might happen.

Something to help So-min, the son that she had never deserved. Something to help the family and the village she had left behind. Far too little and far too late, maybe, but _something_.

They left her alone, after a while; even the children grew tired of tormenting the traitor. Something bigger and more momentous was going on in the camp after all.

A woman called Dawon – one of her husband’s most avid supporters – was addressing the crowd. Miju supposed she had been chosen, and she was taking her responsbility very seriously, until Ki-nam returned.

Just where he had gone though… that was not clear to Miju at first. Even when the scouts returned from staking out the village, he was not with them.

Some people shouted and protested about _traitors_ at that; but those people were soon appeased, as a new commotion began.

Because – Miju soon learned in horror – the scouts had not only brought back information. They had also brought captives.

When she heard the names of those captives, she had to fight very hard not to struggle and fight her way out of her bonds right there and then.

It was cowardly, really; she knew, now the only reason she should feel so distressed about those two being locked up in this very camp was out of pity for their suffering. And there was that. But there was also guilt; guilt for old things, everything she had done to those two in particular, and those they loved.

Still, if she was to be judged, she would have rather it be by them than by anyone else; certainly of her husband’s followers.

She knew – with a quiet resolution – that if she really claimed to have changed, to want to make any sort of reparations at all for what she had done, then she must force herself to confront those deeds, the people she had hurt.

And so, the names of the captives, the news that they were in the camp brought her both clarity and determination.

She felt her hand slip to the ground, as best they could with the ropes bound tight around her chest.

There were rocks there, many small ones, some still stained with her own blood where they had hit her.

What she needed, she thought, was the sharpest one she could find. She shuffled her hand a little on the hard ground between the tree roots, wincing as a sharp edge of what must be a pottery shard caught her fingers. She felt them suddenly slippery with blood, and smiled; even better. She closed her hand tight around the object, relishing the feeling of pain.

It would make this easier, and quicker.

Time; that was what she needed. But luckily, she thought as the night wore on, the people’s attention to Dawon’s fighting words – _defeat the evil_ , she shouted, and _the traitors will pay_ , and _our leader will return by morning with the dragon in chains_ – none of them seemed to be paying much attention to a traitor like her. So, she thought, she had what she needed; time, and a sharp edge, and, for once in her life, a chance to do something _good_.

Miju gritted her teeth, brought the pottery shard up to the ropes as best she could, and slowly began to saw.  

* * *

 

So-min’s boots skidded a little against the roof tiles as he landed on the roof of the house at the centre of the village; he almost lost his balance in his haste, though he managed to save himself at the last moment.

He steadied himself, tried to breath more evenly; he didn’t even quite know why he was so afraid. But he had to check. He had to make sure that Ara was alright.

The reason was, that as he had stood at the edge of the village, looking out into the quiet night, two realisations had come to him, at the same time.

The first was that nothing out there seemed to be amiss. There were certainly no obvious intruders, no one marching on the village. The way Jumong had spoken – and the way In-na and Jae-gyu had reacted – he half expected to come face to face with his father, leading some sort of army to attack, but there was nothing like that; only a tranquil spring evening, the sky just growing dark.

The second thing he realised, though, was that he couldn’t sense Ara back in the village anymore.

But no, he thought as he let himself down to the window of the loft room, swinging his feet onto the sill. She had to be there. In-na had gone to check on her. He just needed to put his fears to rest, and then he would decide what to do next. It must be just that his sense of her was off, or…

He opened the shutters, and let out a shuddering gasp.

The room was empty.

 _No, no no no, it couldn’t be_ … So-min let himself down on the floor, desperately peering around. The bed had been slept in, but Ara was gone. A moment later he frowned, feeling a tug in his heart as he realised her little leather shoulder bag was still there, left beside the bed.

He ran his fingers through his hair in increasing panic and foreboding, opening the door and taking the stairs three at a time. He searched the house, mind whirling. In-na was supposed to be here, too. What had happened? Where were they?

Finally he came to the front door, having searched every room of the house – including the cellar – but to no avail. It was almost jarring; nothing in the house seemed amiss or out of place, except that Ara was gone.

And where was In-na? He had seen her walking towards the house as they had parted ways; where was she, and where had she taken Ara?

He went to the back door, reaching out in the dim light; he couldn’t see well, but something seemed wrong in the sound when he opened it. He felt for the bolt, feeling twisted metal, realising with alarm that it had clearly been forced, from the outside.

He frowned, standing in the open doorway for a moment, as he tried to reach out with his sense of Ara’s presence once more.

But even that sense was growing weaker, he suddenly realised with dread. He hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but he could guess well enough what that meant.  

Nevertheless, he realised after a moment that he _could_ still feel her presence. It was faint, indistinct, but it was there.

But something was wrong. For the second time in only a few days – had it only been that? It felt like so much longer – he realised that Ara was outside the village, and slipping farther away by the moment.

His eyes widened, and he threw himself forward, out onto the walkway that led to the house.   He had half a mind to simply launch himself into the sky and follow her, but the presence was so hazy… he paused for a moment, in sudden doubt.

But even as he did, he saw a flash of motion in his peripheral vision, darting out of sight around the side of the house.

Immediately he was springing into action, every muscle in his body releasing tension born of a building sense of anxiety. He sprang to one side, jumped off the railing, a fleeing figure coming into view. He snarled, immediately springing back to the wall of the house, trapping the figure against it. They were very small and slight, wearing a deep-hooded cloak to completely hide their face. They let out a thin cry of fear as So-min pushed them back with a hand in the centre of the chest, but it was too dark to see anything within the hood.

“P-please! Ryokuryuu… sir, I didn’t mean…”

So-min blinked, shocked, and drew back, pulling the figure with him, into the light of the rising moon.

He knew that voice, and the face he saw when he wrenched the hood back confirmed it.

“….Jumong?”

The boy looked wide-eyed and terrified, shrinking back from So-min. “I’m… I’m s-sorry, I wasn’t… I swear I didn’t mean…” he tailed off, as So-min stared at him.

“I thought” said So-min, wary as his mind worked through possibilities, “that In-na sent you back to the workshop.”

“She…she did, but…”

He narrowed his eyes, terrible possibilities and wild speculations crowding in at him. His voice dropped low, dangerous. “So tell me, Jumong… why are you here, hiding in the dark behind my house?”

“I… it’s not what it looks like!” blurted the child, eyes widening in sudden fear.

“And what does it look like, hmm? What am I to surmise from you snooping around here?” his thoughts were spiralling with wild suspiscion now. _Who_ _m_ _could he trust?_ It seemed at this point like the answer to that question was _no one_.

“I just… I was going to go right back to Mistress In-na’s workshop… I just wanted to check that…” he glanced at the house again.

“Check _what_?”

“I swear, I was just… uh… I was just…”

“Just _what_?” he gritted his teeth, sudden clarity coming to him. “You said that the village was surrounded. But it’s not. You lied to me! Why did you do that?”

“ _Ara might be in danger because of me!_ ” blurted the boy, then immediately covered his mouth with both hands, horror in his eyes. “I mean! I didn’t… I mean, I promised!” he glanced at the house, fearful, his words gabbled out in a panicked rush. “But I didn’t think… I never, _ever_ thought anything might happen to…” he tailed off.

So-min followed his gaze, staring at the open door in silence for a long, frozen moment. “Didn’t…mean for anything to happen…?” he choked out at last. _Ara could be in danger?_ His mind couldn’t quite focus, in that moment, on anything but that. His hand closed in a fist in the front of the boy’s tunic, suspiscion and anger swirling within him like smoke, as he tried to keep calm, to keep his voice steady. “Why… why would you say that?”

“I….” Jumong darted a look behind So-min, evidently trying desperately to backtrack. But it was too late. “I… I never meant for any harm to come to… ah… I can explain!” The boy was crying now. “I d-didn’t mean to tell her things, I swear!”

“Tell her things?” So-min’s mind went blank with shock. “T-tell who?”

“I! I don’t know her name!” squeaked Jumong, trembling so badly So-min could barely make out his words. “She…she wasn’t from here. She always wore a cloak, and I never really properly saw her face… she always wore a big hat… sometimes there was a man with her…” Jumong had started crying. “They took my parents away! They… they had them, off in their camp somewhere. Outside the village. Told me to go to my apprenticeship early, to tell Mistress In-na they had g-gone away. He said all I had to do was tell them some things, and they’d be safe. He said…” he breathed hard, seemingly unable to form words.

“ _What?_ ” it was all So-min himself could do to get the word out, through clenched teeth. All he could think of was the times he had seen Jumong in the last few months; always there trotting at In-na’s heels, asking questions or stammering in admiration. Her hands guiding his small ones as she taught him to cut feathers for arrows, to keep a steady hand when carving wood and fitting the arrowheads. Or carefree mornings playing with Ara in the yard outside the house, afternoons helping Jae-gyu carry firewood before the night closed in.

Always close by. Always listening, always watching too. Could it really be true? So-min’s voice trembled. “What…. who were they? These people? What did you tell them?”

“Only… only a bit! …Sh-she had a knife, he said she’d do something… hurt my parents if I didn’t tell them things… please… I never meant to do any harm!”

“What did they want to know?”

“Harmless things! Just… stuff like… what you were doing! How Ara was! What Mistress In-na and Mistress Jae-gyu usually did at different times of the day!” he sobbed. “I d-didn’t think… I… didn’t mean… I never wanted anyone to get hurt! B-but… now… now some people came and took them! I’m scared for Mistress In-na, and for Ara too!”

So-min’s mind went blank, all at once, sudden rage of frightening ferocity flooding through him, the frustration he had been holding back like a flood breaking its damn. He snarled, pinning the boy against the side of the house with a fist bunched in his tunic, aware even as he did so that it was wrong, he was being cruel, but in that moment – frighteningly – unable to stop. Jumong’s eyes were so wide So-min could see white all around, his face filled with fear and pain. So-min felt tears in his eyes; before he realised what he was doing, he found himself raising a fist to the cowering child.

…Only to drop it down to his side again a moment later, his shoulders slumping and hot, sharp tears coming to his own eyes. For a moment, madness had seized him, anger and frustration rising up in his in a red mist, born of the knowledge that he was so helpless, that for all his power, he never had been able to keep the ones he loved safe from danger. That it was because of that power itself that his family was this broken, tearing itself apart for years, for generations uncountable before he was born, and, in all probability, forward into the endless future.

He drew back, hands trembling. Jumong lifted up his head, tentatively. “I’m… I’m sorry! So, so sorry…”

“N-no” said So-min, shakily. He felt weak, drained. It was his own mother and father who were responsible for this, not this child. A visceral surge of disgust washed through him, horror at the ugly impulse to violence that had risen in him a moment ago. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m… I’m sorry, Jumong. It’s… it’s not your fault.”

Jumong sniffed. “It… it is though. I should have said something… b-but… I was so _scared_ … I couldn’t say anything, not when you’d all been so kind…”

So-min’s heart ached. “Listen, kid” he said, awkwardly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but… but I swear to you… I promise right now, that whatever time I’ve got left, whatever power I’ve got left…” he clenched his fists at his sides, looking up into the darkening sky. _Somewhere out there was Ara, and In-na. Somewhere out there was something that he could do, before he died_. “I’m going to make this right.”

* * *

 

In-na woke slowly, her awareness coming back piece by piece. She was lying in the corner of a dark, confined space of some sort, on something hard; her body ached all over from lying against what felt like rough wood, in the wrong position, her bad leg protesting especially. Her head hurt and felt heavy, stuffed with wool, a dryness and an unpleasant taste at the back of her throat. From the drug, she supposed, holding her head in her hands as memory returned.

Disorientated, she tried to feel her way forwards in the darkness, but realised after a moment that her hands were bound, with thick, hairy cords, tied tight around her wrists. Her ankles were similarly bound, she realised a moment later. Her cane was nowhere to be found, but, she thought ruefully, it didn’t seem like standing and walking was something she’d have a chance to do anytime soon anyway, with her bonds and the confined darkness pressing in all around. Her toolbelt was gone too, she realised, so no help there either.

Trying to quash the panic that was building in her as she sat alone in the dark, she widened her eyes desperately, trying to see something, anything. As she did so, she realised that there _was_ some light; filtering through what seemed to be a crack in the wall – no, cracks between wooden boards? - leaking in the orange glow of what seemed to be firelight from the outside. She was in some sort of small, covered wagon, she decided on further inspection, but built heavier and stronger than any she had ever seen before. The ceiling about high enough to stand up with only a slight stoop, if she had been able to move. She had woken half leaning against the doors at one end, but they were locked from the outside, so no help there.

But she also realised, in that moment, that she was not alone.

Beside her, she could hear quiet, even breathing, as though of someone asleep. She reached out in the dark, and touched a shoulder, an arm… a small one, a child’s sleeping form. She let out her breath, with relief. _Ara_. She was here, and she was alive. They must have drugged her, as they had drugged In-na herself, she realised, as she would not wake, even when In-na shook her gently, whispered her name. The thought made her angry, more furious than she had been since… well, since _then_ , all those years ago. _All those years ago when Jae-gyu had been bleeding almost to death in her arms, and In-na had broken her leg so badly she would never walk the same again,_ _and all she could think about was… let Geon get far away with the child, and spare Jae-gyu’s life. In-na would have gladly have given her own life to save any of theirs. Even with things as they had been, it would have been an easy choice to make._

_But in the end, things had turned out differently that snowy night twenty-four years ago, and here she still was._

She pushed that memory from her mind; she didn’t meed to be thinking of that now. But the thought that _anyone_ would order a child to be drugged and kidnapped, locked in the dark… she gritted her teeth, pulling Ara into her arms with difficulty; at least when she woke, it would be in In-na’s arms, and maybe she could give the poor child some comfort until they could find some way out of this.

It was only when she shifted Ara’s sleeping form onto her lap that she heard a metallic clink and rattle. A moment later In-na caught her breath, realising its source; there were chains, thick ones attached to manacles bound to the girl’s ankles and wrists, looping back to a heavy ring built into the wooden wall.

Fear ignited in her then, but more than that, certainty, followed by a greater anger; there was only one person she could think of who would order a child to be chained in thick iron.

In-na balled her hands into fists at the very thought. Ki-nam had hurt the people she loved again and again, and yet all those years she had been negligent; she had thought he no longer posed any risk. But she had been wrong; he had killed Joona, and now he had kidnapped Ara, and was, in all probability, aiming to capture So-min too.

But, she decided, there in the dark, she would stand against him. Even if she _couldn’t_ stand, or walk, or fight. She would still struggle against him with everything she had, until the end of her life and beyond if it meant she could oppose him.

A sound interrupted her thoughts; the sound of a crowd cheering outside, some way away. Someone speaking to them. She frowned, remembering what So-min had said; Ki-nam had been gathering followers, people with the dragon’s blood from across the country. What had he told them about her, about their family? Surely he had painted them as villains and traitors. In-na swallowed nervously, trying to listen; was that his voice addressing them? No, it didn’t sound like him. _Then who?_

But she didn’t have time to think any further, as a moment later, Ara was stirring in her arms, letting out a quiet whine as she woke.

“Ah!” wailed Ara, her voice rising high and thin with panic as for a moment she struggled and thrashed in her chains, bruising In-na’s side with her dragon’s foot. If she hadn’t been bound by the chains the strength in a well-placed blow like that could have killed her; Ara was getting much stronger, In-na realised. “Where… where am I? So-min! Mama! I want Mama…” she whispered, her voice dropping, as tears choked up her throat.

“Shh” In-na whispered, stroking her hair as Ara flinched in her chains, whimpering with fear at the sudden dark and captivity. “Shh, little one. You’re…” she bit her lip, not wanting to lie, but seeing no way to tell Ara the truth without frightening her unduly. “I’m here. You’re… safe.”

Ara’s head turned as far as she could to meet In-na’s gaze in the darkness; all she could see of her face were two bright points where the dim torchlight slivers reflected off her eyes. “In-na…?” she sobbed.

“Yes, love. I’m here.”

“I’m… so sorry they got you too! There were… bad men. I wasn’t quick enough to kick them, or run away… there was…” she gestured helplessly in the air, making the chains rattle. “They put something over my face, it smelled all sweet, but then I went to sleep and…” she let out a choking sob, throwing her arms around In-na. “I didn’t want them to take you too! I couldn’t stop them…”

In-na’s heart ached, as she stroked Ara’s temple gently. “I know, darling. It’s alright.” She kissed her on the top of the head, knowing that nothing was alright. “We’re… we’ll fix this. Somehow, it’ll be alright.” That much at least, she had to believe.

Ara raised her head, sniffing. “Where’s So-min? Where’s Jae-gyu? Is Jumong okay?”

In-na frowned; another worry. She _hoped_ her apprentice would be alright; she had sent him to lock himself in the workshop, but who knew what was happening in the village as they spoke. She didn’t even know how much time had passed since they’d been taken. And of So-min and Jae-gyu… well, she supposed she just had to hope that those two – her dear family, the only ones she had left and the people she loved most in the world, along with Ara – would be able to keep themselves safe in all this. She grimaced; she wouldn’t put it past Jae-gyu to do something reckless and stupid when she found out they had been taken, _and with So-min losing his power_ …

She realised Ara was still waiting for her to answer, as she felt small, cold fingers squeeze hers. Though she could barely move her hands for the ropes binding her wrists, she squeezed back, trying to get some warmth back into Ara’s hands. “It’s up to them now” she said. She leaned her forehead against Ara’s, who snuggled close as best she could. “They’re strong and smart, they can get through this. It’s our job to stay as safe as we can now, so that they can get us back.”

Ara dropped her head, nodding. “I hate this!” she burst out after a moment. She rattled the chains on her wrists, tugging sharply with her dragon’s leg, but to no avail. Clearly the chains had been made to withstand even the strength of the dragon’s power, In-na thought with a pang. “I hate hate _hate_ that they did this! I want to get free so I can stop them!” Ara wiped her face with her sleeve. “It’s that man who killed Mama, I know it is! He wanted to capture So-min ‘n me too, and… and I’m scared of him! B-but…” she sniffed. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me! I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.” She was silent for a moment. “Not like Mama did.”

“I know. I know.” In-na felt grief wash over her again at the sob hitching in Ara’s voice as she spoke of Joona. She needed to think of something, she knew, but first, she needed to calm Ara, who was becoming more distressed by the minute. “Hey” she said, lifting up her hand to Ara’s cheek, wiping away the tears there as best she could. With difficulty, she put her hand to the front of her tunic, and smiled as she felt something familiar there. The book she had taken from the table in the house; it felt like so long ago now. “Look what I have, hmm?”

She placed it in Ara’s manacled hands; neither of them could see much, but as soon as Ara touched the worn binding, her face lit up, and she stopped crying.

“Mama’s book!” she exclaimed. “How do you still have it?”

“I took it with me from the house… before” said In-na. “They didn’t take _that_ away from me, at least.” _They must have thought that there was no danger in allowing an old woman to keep a book of stories_ , she thought.

Ara clutched it to her chest as though the very touch of it brought her hope and comfort; it surely must, In-na thought, if it had been with her all her life. Truth be told, it gave In-na comfort too, just having some connection to Joona, in their darkest moment. Her daughter might be gone, In-na thought, but her granddaughter was still here, and if In-na could do anything to help her then she would.

A moment later though, Ara’s shoulders drooped. “It’s too dark to read stories though.”

“I know” said In-na. “But I’m pretty sure you know all the stories in there off by heart, don’t you?”

Ara giggled at that, though the sound was choked with tears. “Yeah, I do!”

“Your mother did too, when she was little.” She smiled, in the darkness. “How about…how about you tell me your favourite?”

“B-but they’re all my favourite…”

“Well…” In-na gave a laugh that was mostly a sob. “We’ve got time…”

And that was how, in that dark place, In-na listened as Ara told her stories, in a thin voice that gradually lost some of its nervous waver. Stories that she knew already, stories of the exciting adventures of King Hiryuu and his four dragon warriors, all fighting together at his side. Tales of war and heroics, of the eternal bond of friendship between the four of them.

All the stories ended happily, of course; whatever villain or rebel lord or daring bandits had been causing trouble was always defeated in those stories, and the heroes returned home to Hiryuu Castle to carry on the business of ruling the kingdom in peace and justice.

She didn’t know how much of it was true; she found it hard to believe – and moreso the older she got - that it had ever been that simple. Things rarely were. But it didn’t matter. Because by the time she was done, Ara was smiling again, comforted by the familiar words that she had doubtless heard told to her in many times of trouble and hardship on the road.

“And that’s all the stories I can think of right now” said Ara at last, shrugging. She seemed calmer now, In-na thought; that was good.

“Thank you, Ara” said In-na, and meant it. She herself felt a little calmer, even though she could still hear the sounds of a restless crowd of people outside. At one point they had even felt an impact to the side of their little prison, rocking the wagon to one side a little. But it had fallen quieter now, the noise more distant.

“Can I tell you something else?”

Ara’s voice was different, quieter now. “Of course” said In-na.

“One time… when Mama and I were travelling around… we went to the sea. It was really pretty! I only saw it that one time. She told me to be careful by the side of the cliff, it was a really long way to fall…”

Ara giggled a little. “I would have been okay even if I did fall, but…” she tailed off. “Mama got all sad. She said… she said that I could fly, but flying… it’s not like falling. _It’s different_ , she said. _You’ll understand_. I didn’t know what she meant. I thought when I fly, it’s not that far away from falling. I… I asked her what she meant, but… she never answered. I don’t… I don’t think she was _really_ talking about that, at all. She was looking out at the water, and she said… she said she was sorry I had never had a home. And I didn’t know what she meant, really… she was sad like that sometimes. But she said she had had a home, once. And a family. But she said she couldn’t go back… and I didn’t understand that, either. She was really sad, so I tried to make her feel better. I said… I said she was my home. Because she was… she was the only one I ever had. And that made her all sad, but also happy, I think.”

Ara wiped a tear from her eye with the heel of a manacled hand. “And… and I still don’t understand things, really. I don’t know why that man is chasing us. I don’t know why… Mama left the village at all, when you’re all so nice! B-but! I do understand what it’s like to have the sort of home she meant, now. And I understand why she was so sad, leaving it behind. And… and I’m glad I got to find her home and family, even if she didn’t. I’m glad you let me have a home. Even if it’s just for a little bit.”

In-na was silent for a long moment after Ara stopped talking. Then she laughed in soft disbelief, tears rolling unnoticed down her cheeks. “Oh, child” she said, holding Ara close. “Once we get out of this, and the village is back to the way it was, this family will be your home forever. Or if not forever, then… just as long as you want it to be.”

Ara flung her arms around In-na’s neck. “I know” she whispered into her hair. “But… but I’m still scared…”

In-na nodded, heart heavy once more. “So am I, my love” she confessed, wondering what could be done. “So am I…”

Several things happened then. She heard the roar of the crowd of people increase once more, cheering at something the speaker told them. Something rattled their wagon too; In-na felt a flash of fear, as she held Ara close, ready to hurl herself between the girl and danger, for as long as she could. As she had never been able to do for Joona. At least she could do that for Ara.

The door of their wagon rattled again, the whole thing shaking at the sound of metal on wood. In-na winced as the lock screamed, as Ara took a breath and extricated herself from In-na’s arms, got to her feet in the small space and placed herself squarely between In-na and the door.

It was while she was sitting, frozen with fear and unable to act, that the lock burst and the wooden doors of the wagon flew open. In-na blinked desperately as torchlight spilled into their dark space; all she could see was a black silhouette, holding something long and sharp, curved at one end.

“No! Please, child!” Just as Ara was about to throw herself forward, as far as her chains allowed, the figure lowered its weapon – no, not a weapon, In-na saw now, but a long metal crowbar – and raised a hand, palm out in a gesture of peace. “I’m not here to hurt either of you. I’m here to help you… and So-min too, if I can.”

In-na caught her breath; she knew that voice. Its owner had been with her all through her apprenticeship, as close as a sister. “M…Miju…?” she managed to stammer out, too shocked in that moment to feel any of the anger that she rightly should have.

Miju stepped into the light and nodded. Her face – what In-na could see of it – was painfully nostalgic, though with the shadows of more than two decades on it it looked disorientatingly unfamiliar, all at once. “Yes. Listen, In-na… I know you can’t possibly trust me, after… everything. I understand; _I_ wouldn’t trust me. But please… save whatever you want to say or do to me until later.” She darted a nervous glance back over her shoulder. “Right now, I’m here to get you out.”


	18. Those who stand between

With a final leap from the gatehouse to the roof of his own house, Geon was home. He took a moment to steady the bale of furs and bundled supplies he was carrying on his hip; he had travelled all the way to Fuuga to get them, even though the child wasn’t due for at least another six months. Still, though, traders didn’t always come out this far if the winter proved harsh, and he wanted the very best for his child. And better that if he was to leave the village to trade, he do it now while everything was still relatively calm here, a nervous part of him said.

Though, he realised as he looked out over the village, it was less calm than when he had left. His brow furrowed as he saw a crowd gathering in the market square, a voice carrying to where he stood as the wind changed, blowing Geon’s hair across his face. He shook it aside and frowned, edging to the other side of the roof and peering down surreptitiously, so he could see who was speaking.

Not that he needed to see, really; he recognised that voice well enough.

Sure enough, as he looked down from the roof there was Ki-nam in the square, standing on a stack of crates. A gathering crowd of upturned faces stared up at him, their expressions - what Geon could see of them - showing everything from idle curiosity to worshipful awe.

 _More on the awe side_ , he thought, his mood souring by the moment. _More than last time,_ _too_. How many of them were there now coming out to listen to his words? Nearly a hundred? That was half the village, he realised in alarm, and a significant number of them had raised pitchforks and scythes. One man had a thick, heavy chain wrapped around both his fists and was waving it in the air. No, not just any man, Geon thought in alarm; this man had been a childhood friend of himself and Jae-gyu. Now though, he was yelling in agreement at Ki-nam’s words.

“And haven’t the dragon warriors been the cause of every conflict in our village’s long and blood-soaked history? We are told that they protect our village. But how many lives have they cost, how many families have clawed themselves apart, over the centuries? I have studied our history. Every time we fight, it has been surrounding the cursed dragon’s blood!”

“The fighting is ended though!” shouted a voice in the crowd, a young woman, Geon thought. “They made a treaty! My parents put their names to it!”

“Yes, and mine!”

“Maybe so, but you are fools if you think this peace will last; the dragons are demons, and answer to nobody. Not even the gods! My brother Ryokuryuu Geon” - Ki-nam said the name like a bad taste in his mouth - “cannot hear their voices. But even if he could he wouldn’t listen! None of them will!” Ki-nam laughed bitterly. “In a few generations the treaty will be dust; only steel chains will last.” 

Geon fumed silently; there had been a great cheer at that. But Ki-nam raised a hand, with incongruous patience and benevolence. “Besides” he continued, once the cheers had hushed. “The threat is not only from within. The treaty you spoke of… that was supposed to end the fighting, to protect you. But it has only given the cursed dragons - my brother, the cause of my own father’s death! - the liberty to roam free, to fill the lands with rumours of power and bring raiders to the village! Bandits killed my father, Priest Garam… he loved this village more than anything, and he died defending it. And you know who they were looking for, when they killed him?” Ki-nam paused, for dramatic effect Geon thought. “My brother! And where was he? Out travelling the lands, revelling in his precious freedom while our father bled! And next time, it could be all of us they come for. The further the legend of the dragons travels, the more will come.” He raised a hand in the air. “No one person’s freedom is worth your blood! Least of all the ungrateful, demon-haunted dragon spawn!”

The crowd went wild. _Words_ , Geon thought, trying to calm his anger. It was all words with his brother. Cruel words, fighting words. Geon hated that, most of all. If it had been up to him, he would have faced his brother up front, made him air his grievance. Settled it with a fight, that Geon knew he could win.   
But, he realised with a sinking heart and a voice in his head that sounded rather a lot like Jae-gyu at her most incisive, that would probably do more harm than good. For one thing he would be breaking the treaty; the two pillars of which were that the dragon warriors were not to be harmed, trapped, chained, confined or forced into violence, but in turn they were forbidden from using their power to spill their own people’s blood. If he attacked Ki-nam, it would only prove his brother’s point.

The whole thing was maddening.

He was just thinking this, gritting his teeth, as a change in the sound of the crowd caught his attention. He glanced back down, squinting down into the square. It was hard to see for the walkway spanning the space between two houses, but he saw the crowd part, surging forward towards a figure, walking swiftly.

“That’s her!” yelled someone.

“Dragon spawn!” came another voice.

“The cursed dragon’s wife!”

“She’s carrying his child!”

“Evil! She’s just as evil as he is!”

“Her child might be the next monster!”

Geon’s eyes widened; he dropped his bundle, and it tumbled to his feet, as the blood beat in his temples. _In-na_ … he could see her now, hurrying past the square. She was in the company of another woman…was that Jae-gyu? No, he saw. The woman at In-na’s side was San the midwife, whom she had been going to see for some remedies; In-na had been suffering terribly with morning sickness, and San and her husband had been so kind to her.

Nevertheless, Geon felt anxiety kindle in his chest. He would have been reassured if it was Jae-gyu with In-na, but of course, he thought with a pang, Jae-gyu had hardly been speaking to them after their argument, weeks ago. She had become closed off, secretive and restless now, hardly ever in the house, and even Geon – who had once shared everything with her – didn’t know where she went. It caused him pain, but he had resigned himself to it, somewhat; Jae-gyu would come around once the child was born, In-na and he had reassured each other. She would love their child, because how could she do anything else?

But still. Geon would have been reassured to have Jae-gyu around to keep In-na safe while he had been away. Already he was cursing his stupidity; he should never have left, he realised. He hadn’t known how bad things had become.

But now he could see the crowd surge in at the two of them, making San grasp In-na’s hand in fear. The last thing he saw before she was out of sight behind another wooden strut was the crowd of Ki-nam’s followers reaching out to grasp In-na with many hands, and the glint of a knife unsheathed, beneath In-na’s cloak; she could defend herself, he knew, but there were so many of them…

He didn’t even pause any longer to crane down and look for her. A moment later, Geon was launching himself into the air from the top of the house, drawing the short spear strapped to his back even as he flew. The cold wind did nothing to cool the hot rage beginning to flare inside him as the crowd rushed at In-na; quite the opposite, in fact, as he caught sight of Ki-nam, standing there completely still, indifferent almost, doing nothing to quell the tide.

A moment later, his feet were hitting the boards as he dropped to the ground in front of In-na in a perfect landing. A man was reaching for her, and Geon whirled around, enraged, and kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards. On the backswing, he caught a woman’s arm as she reached out to grab at In-na, who was wide-eyed and pale with shock, her whittling knife clutched tightly at guard. Dimly, Geon realised that any violence would only prove Ki-nam right, in the minds of these people – people he had peacefully lived alongside all his life, until so very recently – but in that moment, he didn’t care. All he cared about was In-na, and their child. He stood back, raising his spear and shielding her, his teeth gritted. But no; even in his anger, Geon had to acknowledge that there were too many of them. And so he swept her up in his arms – ignoring her alarmed cry – and lifted her into his arms, jumping immediately for their house, leaving the crowd clamouring and whispering behind him.

“Geon!” In-na was shouting, over the roaring in his ears. “Geon, it’s alright, I’m alright…”

He landed on the roof of their house, lowered her gently down to the window of the loft room. Lately, Jae-gyu had taken to sleeping here at the very top of the house under the pitch of the roof, when she had come home at all.

But of course she was not there now. Just another thing to feel frustrated about, but now it was subsumed by the much greater anger, radiating from him in waves.

Once inside the room, In-na sheathed her dagger with trembling fingers, then reached out a hand to touch his face as he crouched on the wide window ledge. She gave a watery smile, tears coming to her eyes, now that the initial shock was passing. “Geon” she said, and he could hear worry in her voice. “It’s alright. I’m safe…” she laid a gentle hand her stomach, as though to give their unborn child a reassuring touch. “Our baby is safe, too.” She searched his face as he looked back at her, silent; whatever she saw there made her frown. “Geon… Geon! I swear by the gods, Geon, if you’re thinking of doing something as stupid as I think you are…”

He gritted his teeth. “Then you’d probably be right” he growled. He kissed her quickly on the head, ignoring her protests, and jumped out of the window once more, grasping his short spear, rage still pounding through him. Though now it had solidified into cold determination; everything seemed suddenly clear. Too long had he done nothing about this. Too long had he not acted.

He was going to put an end to this, once and for all.

He landed in front of Ki-nam. “ _You!_ ” he shouted, sending a ripple through the crowd. He swiped aside a man’s hand reaching out for him with the haft of his spear, impatient as he advanced on his brother. “Your people dare attack In-na?”

Ki-nam raised his hands, palms out. “They fear the dragon’s blood, as rightly they should.”

“Shut up! You have near as much of the dragon’s blood as I do – from our father, who you claim you loved so much! Don’t tell me that I’m cursed without painting yourself in the same darkness.”

“I am not the one who brings spirits and curses down on this village. I am not the one who roams the lands, bringing back misfortune and death, inviting it in to our home!”

“I don’t-”

“You do!” Ki-nam stepped closer, as the crowd narrowed around them. “Brother…” they were close now, eye to eye. “If you believe nothing else I say, then believe this. You will be the last generation who will live free. Because I…” he turned to the listening villagers, speaking out to them. “I swear to you! I swear by the gods, I will make it so! I have been shown the path, and I will take it - ”

“No!” countered Geon. “No. Stop. You’re lying.” He stared out desperately at the people; there were familiar faces there, he saw. “He’s lying! Don’t listen to him!”

Ki-nam leaned closer to him, voice going soft so that only Geon could hear, even as they shouted and jeered, hurling insults. “Oh, but I’m not lying” said Ki-nam. “The future’s as we make it, yes… but sometimes, there are two paths, and someone must make the choice that determines which path all will follow. But you don’t have to take it from me, you know.”

Geon frowned, aware that he was being goaded, but too curious to resist taking the bait. “What do you mean?”

“…Have you spoken to our sister lately?”

Geon frowned deeper. “What does Jae-gyu have to do with any of this? Speak clearly, and not in riddles!”

“There are two paths. I have seen them.” He raised a hand, to still Geon’s protests. Geon was aware that the crowd had gone very quiet now, listening, but he was too busy listening intently to Ki-nam’s words himself now, despite his better judgement. “I know which she will choose.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you trust our sister?”

Geon stared. “Yes! Yes I do!”

“What would you do if Jae-gyu betrayed you?”

“She wouldn’t” said Geon immediately.

And that was it; Ki-nam smiled, in the way of a cat that has its prey cornered. “Not yet” he said. “But she will. She will, oh she will, and…” Ki-nam stopped speaking his eyes going suddenly blank and unseeing, with the far sight of prophecy. “ _The path, once set, will lead to the death of your only child_.”

“ _Enough!_ ” That was it; that was the last he could take. Geon was hardly thinking as he swung his fist forward, as he felt it connect with Ki-nam’s nose with a sickening crunch. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ say that! If that is the future you have seen, then… I will make my own path!”

The crowd – which had grown even larger by now – whispered and shouted, egging them on as Ki-nam gasped, eyes flashing back to awareness again. For a moment he staggered, but he recovered quickly; even as Geon stood there with blood on his knuckles, Ki-nam was drawing his sword, Geon dropping into a guarded stance, his spear in hand.

“So, it has come to this” said Ki-nam. He smiled, blood running freely from his nose. He looked as hungry for this as Geon felt. “Well, so be it. Let us see who the gods favour.”

Quick as that, Ki-nam’s sword flashed outwards towards him. Geon thrust out his spear with an equally swift motion, even as at the very same time he saw Ki-nam strike at his chest. He dropped low, watching the crowd clustering around and then carefully looking over his brother. Ki-nam’s face was filled with intense concentration, his movements precise, spare and measured. But something else too; something sharp, hungry. Anticipatory. Torchlight glinted off his blade as, for just a moment of stillness, their eyes met.

A voice behind him,the clatter of a door and running footsteps on the boards. “Geon, no! Don’t do this!”

He winced; _In-na_. _No, no, she wasn’t safe out here…_ she had her bow and quiver now, but that wouldn’t be enough to save her from the fury of the mob, if Ki-nam chose to set them upon her.

He couldn’t let this carry on. He had to stop it. “Sorry, In-na” he whispered to himself. “I know I said you thought I was going to do something stupid, but… you’re going to have to trust me.”

A fraction of an instant later, both brothers moving at once. Time seemed to slow, as Geon launched himself forward – he could jump high into the air, go over the blow completely if he wanted, but he was long past that. He was tired of avoidance. He was tired of using his power to avoid facing his troubles head on. If Ki-nam had a grudge against him, then he would _fight_.

He had always been good, Geon did not think then, at convincing himself that what he was doing was for the greater good; at least for long enough that his course was set and justifications no longer mattered.

Ki-nam’s sword flashed out in a bright arc as there was a great collective indrawn breath; everyone’s eyes were on the two of them now. But Geon was hardly aware of that; all he felt was anger, pent-up frustration released.

He threw his whole strength behind the blow, pivoting on his dragon’s foot with preternatural balance to allow his spear to swing out in a deadly arc. Even as he did, he saw Ki-nam’s blade rise up to parry, but, he knew with fierce pre-emptive triumph, it would not be quick enough, his brother’s reach with just a sword was too short, not enough power behind the blow to block Geon’s cut. He would spill his brother’s blood, and for that he wasn’t even as sorry as he should be; this had to end _now_ , before it got any more out of hand. Ki-nam’s followers had meant to hurt In-na after all; this was not for himself.

 _Closer_ … time slowed down as torchlight glanced off the two blades, arcing towards each other as the two brothers’ eyes met between. Ki-nam’s eyes were wide with sudden fear, as even in those split seconds he realised the strength behind Geon’s attack, the knowledge that he couldn’t counter it, couldn’t save himself, sudden and bright behind his gaze.  

 _Closer_ … the moment stretched out. Later, Geon would wonder if that were always the case at such moments of fate, this stretching of time to an endless present, still full of possibility before the future was fixed, the path set.

For a moment later, it was.

He heard In-na shout something behind him. At the same moment there was a clash of metal against metal, blade against blade, the impact reverberating down Geon’s arms as the spear haft absorbed the shock.

But the angle was wrong, the strength behind it coming from one side, where Geon had been focused in front of him, all his attention on his brother. So much so, that he had not noticed the figure coming in on the right at the very last, another spear striking sparks off both weapons as it clashed between them, holding both now locked to its curved blade.

In the flickering light, Geon would tell himself he recognised the spear blade itself before he saw the face of its wielder in the depths of a dark hood. Or perhaps, he would also think, he knew all along.

The blade was one end of a fearsome, elegant double-ended spear, wrought with shimmering  folds of metal that flickered in the torchlight. A familiar weapon; it had been in his family for many centuries, Geon knew. His aunt and predecessor Joona had offered it to Geon himself, but he had refused; he preferred an ordinary spear, this one had always seemed too much for him. Besides, there was someone who was much more skilled with it, had shown a natural aptitude for the twin-bladed weapon, and that was the one who had been at his side through all his training.

That was the wielder of that blade; he would know her fighting style anywhere.

After all, she was his sister.

“J-Jae-gyu?”

There was a tense hush over the whole crowd, as she turned her head slowly to look at him. As he saw her eyes from within her dark hood, he saw that she looked tired, careworn and sorrowful. But there was something else in her face too. Fear and anger and… well, something else. Something that – for the very first time in their lives – Geon couldn’t read.

“Jae-gyu…” he looked between her and Ki-nam behind her; in that moment, their faces looked so similar. Sudden foreboding came over Geon, though he could not say exactly why. “What are you doing?”

Jae-gyu didn’t move or answer. She seemed frozen as she held Geon and Ki-nam’s blades at bay, locked together at an impasse. Ki-nam still stood behind her with his sword thrust out in his failed parry, apparently as shocked to see their sister as Geon was. Or at least for the first moments; after that, his face seemed to pass from shock to realisation, a very small bitter smile playing about his mouth.

Geon didn’t understand that. He didn’t understand any of this, though, and so he looked to Jae-gyu once more for answers. But once more, there were none to be had. He saw tension in her; she was too still, but it seemed that every muscle in her body was tight as a twisted rope. The only thing that moved were her eyes, flicking for just a moment to In-na behind him. Then her face turned hard and cold as brittle stone, as she turned back to face Geon.

He frowned as she matched the strength of his arm, holding back his spear as behind her, Ki-nam lowered his sword.

“Jae-gyu, what… what are you doing?”

Her voice, when she answered, was hollow, uninflected. Desperately familiar and yet so terribly unlike herself. “I can’t let you hurt him, Geon” she said.

Geon gave Ki-nam a wary glance; his brother was standing frozen now. There was a tension in his shoulders that was identical, somehow, to Jae-gyu’s. It made Geon nervous, for reasons he didn’t understand. His face darkened. “Jae-gyu, he was trying to hurt In-na.”

Her face twitched, but that was all. “I…” she glanced over Geon’s shoulder, at In-na, then back over at Ki-nam. “In-na will be safe, if you listen to me. You have to leave him alone.”

“Fuck that!” burst out Geon. He brought his spear blade up, unlocking it from Jae-gyu’s with terrible scraping of metal on metal. “He riled his people up, made them try to hurt In-na, and the child! He wants me in chains!”

There was a rustling and a flurry of whispers in the crowd, who seemed to press closer around them. Still Ki-nam said nothing, which made Geon all the more angry. “He said the child would die!”

“Still” said Jae-gyu, her voice cracking just a little. “You… you can’t kill him, Geon.” There was something running through her eyes, as though she were desperately trying to communicate something to him, without words. “You mustn’t fight him. Please, don’t try.”

There might have been a time when that would have worked, too. When they were children and had shared everything, spending their every moment together and understanding each other so perfectly. Swearing that nothing would ever come between them.

Geon gritted his teeth as he stared at Jae-gyu’s unreadable face, the shadows under her eyes. He frowned, raising his spear experimentally. “And what would happen if I did?”

To his surprise, she raised hers too, its blade catching the light. “Then you would have to fight against me too.”

* * *

**_(Present)_ **

 

The door opened, spilling out lantern light into the night. Bo-seon raised an eyebrow at Jae-gyu, making no move to invite her into the house.

“Jae-gyu. Whatever’s the matter? Why are you coming to my door in the dead of night, looking like you want to skin a man alive?”

She gritted her teeth, forced herself to relax a little. “It’s him, Bo-seon” she said, without preamble. “He’s here. Ki-nam’s back, and he’s come for So-min, and we have to defend the village against - ”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait…” said Bo-seon, raising a placating palm. “Slow down. Tell me everything.”

Impatiently, Jae-gyu rattled off a short version of what So-min had told her of his encounter with Ki-nam, finishing with the news Jumong had brought. “So you see” she said, “if we can trust that child - and I have no reason not to, he’s not the type to make things like that up – then it is highly likely that there will be fighting. Ki-nam has been gathering people to him, allies… we need to get everyone who can defend the village - ”

“Jae-gyu” said Bo-seon, with frustrating gentleness. “I know that you have wanted to confront him again for all these years. It’s natural, after what he did to you. But look around…” he gestured out into the quiet night. “Nothing is wrong. If I were to tell everyone that some great threat was coming for them – a man who was exiled in disgrace decades ago! - on the word of a child, to tell them that we are under some sort of attack - ”

“So-min has gone to scout the village’s borders” said Jae-gyu immediately. She hefted her spear over her shoulder, impatient. “He’ll be back soon.”

Bo-seon smiled gently, as behind him two of his grandchildren appeared, peering with large, sleepy eyes at the night time visitor. “Go back to sleep, dears” he said. “All is well.” He said this last rather pointedly, looking back to Jae-gyu. “Jae-gyu… I realise you are worried, but we cannot be too hasty. We will wait for young So-min to return, and see what he has seen. In the meantime, would you like to come inside and join me for some tea…?”

Jae-gyu didn’t even stay to hear anymore. With a snort of frustration, she turned on her heel.

“Thank you for the offer, but you can keep your tea!” she called back, over her shoulder. “ _I’ll_ go and find So-min, see what there is to see myself!”

And with that, she took off at a jog towards the bridge, sparing him not another backwards glance.

The first thing she noticed was the guard was gone from the gatehouse when she got to the bridge. She frowned to see that; that wasn’t usual. She stood with her back against the gate, listening.

It was very quiet. Jae-gyu peered carefully into the main walkway of the bridge, almost a corridor spanning the deep ditch that surrounded the village proper. She curled her fingers tighter around the haft of her spear; she felt her skin prickle with foreboding, a nameless fear.

She bit down on her lip, trying to ground herself; the fact that there was no one here was not in itself indicative of danger. In fact, it was probably a good sign. There was certainly no sign of the attacking force she had feared, a vast crowd of Ki-nam’s followers – armed with torches and spears – that her imagination had filled in, in the absence of knowledge.

No. Whatever Jumong had meant – _and gods, she wished now that she had questioned him further… perhaps that would be the next thing she would do_ – she saw no sign of any people, much less any attackers.

And yet, she realised as she looked doubtfully out across the bridge, there really should be _someone_ at this guard post. The gate was _always_ guarded, even during the harvest when every spare pair of hands was needed in the rice fields. There was no one, now.

It was too quiet.

She was just thinking that, when there was a sound from the bridge. Faint, yes, but all her senses were acutely tuned, her ears straining for the slightest rustle.

There it was again; the unmistakable creak footsteps of wood. It was a very familiar sound, in this village of flying walkways and boards, platforms and narrow stairs. But this was not coming from the village.

Someone was walking on the bridge behind her. _Most of the way out_ , she thought, as she strained to hear. _Close to the_ _far_ _end_.

But coming closer.

She pressed her back against the gate house, holding her spear in both hands. Carefully, trying to stay as silent as she could, she leaned out, peering into the shadowy wooden passage. She could see all the way through, the dim light of stars and moon coming down in shafts through open panels of the covered walkway.

She could see no one there.

Jae-gyu blinked, wondering if she had been wrong as she pulled herself quickly back behind the gate house.

There _was_ someone there, she was sure of it.

But where?

She peered out again with just one eye, seeing nothing once more. Then came the sound again, getting closer. A moment later, she caught her breath, as she realised something else. The sound was clearly not coming from the walkway itself.

It was coming from the roof covering it.

_So-min?_

_Maybe. Or maybe not_.

She frowned, still mistrustful. Keeping as quiet as she could, she placed her boot on the stone  step up to the gatehouse, then lifted herself up so that she was standing on the window ledge. Scrambling up to the roof, using her spear as a strut, jamming it between the gatehouse wall and the bridgepost. All of this she tried to do as soundlessly as she could, but  there was no helping the slight rustle and clatter as she pulled herself up to the roof and crouched on the opposite side of its pitch, the creak of wood as she pulled her spear free.

She winced. Surely whoever was out there would have heard that, would be alerted to the fact that someone was here.

Sure enough, the footsteps had stopped, a listening silence falling. Jae-gyu tried not to breathe as she crouched with her back to the slope of the roof. This was a bad idea, she thought. She could jump down, go back to village. So-min and In-na would surely be back with Ara, would be looking for her by now. If this was an intruder, then she could surely fight them better with the rest of the village behind her.

She should go back, regroup. Ask Bo-seon why there was no gate guard. Maybe this was all her heightened senses, making dangers in the dark when there were none. Even if it wasn’t, she shouldn’t fight alone.

 _She wouldn’t have to fight alone,_ _wouldn’t have to bear the weight of knowledge alone_ _ever again; wasn’t that what In-na and Geon had told her, as she recovered from her wounds all those years ago? Soft words of forgiveness, assurances_ _she_ _still sometimes_ _strugg_ _led_ _to believe she had deserved,_ _even after all these years_.

She should go back; that would be the most sensible thing to do.

And yet, there she still was. She sat with her back to the roof, listening, for a long time.

Until there came a familiar voice, making her eyes widen and the blood beat in her temples. A voice she had not heard in many years, had thought – hoped - never to hear again.

“I know you’re there, Jae-gyu. Thank you for coming to talk.”

She stood up, moving as though in a dream, and turned around.

She saw a dark figure, silhouetted against the night sky, standing on top of the bridge.

“I thought you would come. I suppose I always knew you weren’t dead” she said, trying to keep her voice even. She raised her spear. “Brother.”

* * *

 

“You’re here… to get us out?”

Miju didn’t answer. In-na stared, apparently at a loss for words as instead Miju looked around behind her once, then climbed hastily into the wagon too, closing the doors behind her and plunging them all into darkness. Miju couldn’t see much, but she could feel Ara still standing there, tense and fearful; she could hear the girl’s chains rattling as she trembled. In the dim light she could just about make out In-na placing a hand on her arm.

She needed to see. She rooted in her pocket, struck a light and brought it quickly to the lmap she had stolen, which flared to brightness; the light was dim and smoky, making Ara cough, but at least they could see now.

She saw In-na’s eyes widen a little as their gazes met in the darkness. Must be her own appearance, Miju thought. Quite apart from the fact that they had not seen each other in twenty-four years, she must look alarming to say the least. She had been bleeding from a cut above her eye, dried blood smeared and crusted down one side of her face.

“Now, we need to wait until no one is watching” Miju said before In-na could speak, rolling out a bundle on the floor of the wagon. It contained a chisel, the largest blacksmith’s hammer she had been able to steal, In-na’s own tool belt and cane. “Shouldn’t be hard…” Miju belied her words by wincing, darting a look in the direction from which the muffled roars of the crowd and the speaker were filtering in. “Then we break the little one’s chains, then get past the guards…”

“Wait…” said In-na, “are you… aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Miju glared. “I’m rescuing you!”

Ara was balling her fists, Miju saw, anger – _recognition?_ Miju wondered with dread - in her eyes, tension in her every muscle. In-na held Ara’s hand as best she could, glaring back at Miju. “Last time I saw you were happily going into exile with your gods-cursed husband!” she snapped. “Why should I trust you? Why should I go with you?”

Miju’s eyes widened a little, before she consciously rearranged her features with deliberation, knowing she was only half-succeeding in looking impassive. “My allegiance is not to Ki-nam anymore.” She gritted her teeth, pointing at the blood on her face. In-na stared, as next she raised her hands, palms out. They were torn and freshly bloodied in long gashes, from the shard she had used to saw slowly through her own bonds. At her wrists were rope burns as fresh and red raw as In-na’s own surely were by now.

In-na frowned. “Why should I believe you? Why would I ever trust you again?”

“I told you. I wouldn’t expect you to trust me…” Miju sighed. “But I… I have done wrong, and - ” she ignored In-na’s snort of derision, “ - and I want to… to make things right.”

In-na glared back at her. “Well, it’s too late for that now. Ki-nam already sent people to attack the village! Jae-gyu and So-min are back there! Your _son_ , Miju…” Tears of anger were starting in her eyes; In-na always had been one to cry when she was angry, Miju remembered even from so long ago. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Yes!” flared Miju suddenly. She took a shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “It does mean something, In-na, I’ve realised that now. It took me too long, but…” she took a deep breath, looking between In-na and Ara, standing in her chains. In their faces she saw sudden, painful familiarity, a more recent and more painful memory coming to her with force. Miju drew in a short, sharp breath, suddenly hit with a sharp rush of recollection; a frozen winter’s day, the young woman – _Joona, her name was Joona, named for a dead Ryokuryuu_ – lying bleeding on the grey stone at the valley floor while Ki-nam cornered her screaming, sobbing child.

Back then, Miju had still been… well, she wouldn’t say a believer, but in that moment as in so many before it she had seen no other way but to quash the disgust at her own actions before it was fully formed, stilling the shudder in her fingers as she drew her bow. Joona had raised her head and looked up at her, and even from that distance, Miju had seen how much she looked like In-na, her friend from long ago.

She had watched Joona raise her head, still defiant until the very end, desperate, fierce in protecting her daughter even as she bled out on the ground.

Miju had bitten her lip, and fired the arrow with fingers half numbed by the cold and a frozen heart that she had carefully and meticulously numbed to pain too, over all those years.

That day though… in the present, Miju looked at Ara’s face in the darkness, her eyes large and filled with mistrust. Not that it was misplaced, yet still, much had changed. Ara didn’t know it – and telling her would only feel like trying to justify what she had done – but that day had been the beginning of the end, for Miju. The clearest and most inescapable awakening to the fact that what Ki-nam was doing - and what she was collaborating in – was _wrong_ , and indefensible.

Did Ara remember her from that day? Surely not; Miju’s face had been almost completely hidden by her hat and cloak. If Ara knew she bore part of the responsibility for Joona’s death, then surely she would not still be standing there, wary though she was. She felt another twist of guilt as she thought it through, but stifled it hastily; if they knew about Joona, then they would never trust her to help them. It was better this way, for now at least. Her own confession could wait.

She took a deep breath. In-na and Ara were still looking back at her, both expectant. “I have to do this. Please… let me help you.”

In-na nodded, before she and Ara exchanged a look. “It’s not only my choice, Ara” said In-na. “Do _you_ think that we should trust her?”

Miju watched carefully as the girl turned back to face her, her small face screwed up in deep thought. “You helped us, before. Will you help us get to go back to So-min?”

Miju felt a hard lump of pain in her throat, as she nodded. “Yes” she said. “I will do everything I can to help you get back to him.”

Ara looked back at In-na once more, as though asking for reassurance. In-na nodded, smiled sadly, touching the back of Ara’s arm. Ara nodded too, holding out her wrists to Miju so the manacles clacked. “Break them” she said, determination in her eyes. “Let’s get out of here… together.”

* * *

 

“You know, you’re going to have to surrender him to me” said Ki-nam, casually. “I never meant to resort to violence upon my childhood home – my feelings for traitors such as yourself aside – but I do have a fair number of followers behind me now. I did not bring them with me, but I can easily summon them if I need to.” Jae-gyu could hear the smile in his voice, even though she could barely see his face. “Some might call them an army, even.”

Jae-gyu narrowed her eyes at the dark figure of Ki-nam. “You have no right! You have no right to come back here, after your exile, and bring with you an attacking force of… what? Bandits you met on the road, and convinced with some ranting about the gods and how our brother was evil?”

“My people” said Ki-nam smoothly, “are _our_ people, Jae-gyu. People with dragon’s blood, born out there in the world. I am merely collecting the potential to create more monsters, bringing them all in where the dragons of the future can be kept under guard.” He raised a hand, open towards the sky. “And besides, all those with our blood have as much right to this place as you, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not if you’re using them to attack us, to steal back the son that you tried your damnedest to torture and confine for his whole life! That _we_ saved! In-na and Geon and me!” she spat out the words; they were defiance, they were a slap to the face of the ghosts of guilt that still lived inside her. “You lost your right to this place long ago. You lost it when you were sent into exile!”

Ki-nam laughed, then. A bitter, ironic laugh, ringing in the night air. “And you would know all about that now, wouldn’t you?” Over the course of their conversation, they had been coming closer together, with now only a matter of about ten feet separating them, opposite each other on the long roof of the bridge passage. A sharp drop on either side.

Jae-gyu ground her teeth. “I made mistakes” she said. “But all the people that mattered forgave me. And I vowed to spend the rest of my life trying to make it right.” She raised her head defiantly. “And that’s what I’ve done, as much as I can. And that’s what I will continue to do, for as much time as is left to me.”

Ki-nam tilted his head. “Depends on your definition of right, I suppose” he said. “I know you think me amoral, but I think… we merely work in different ways. We have different people we want to protect. And I… I am not above using that to get what I want.”

Jae-gyu narrowed her eyes. “I’m done making deals with you” she snapped, raising her spear. “I will never dance to your tune again.”

“Oh” said Ki-nam. “Well then, you won’t be interested to know that just now – while you were busily running around trying to raise an army, I assume – some friends of mine… ah… paid this village a visit.”

Jae-gyu tried to disguise her alarm, to keep her face neutral. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want this to come to war, Jae-gyu” he said. “That’s the last thing I want. So instead… I have come to make you an offer.” He looked up languidly at the sky. “I want you to give me back my son, who is mine by right - ”

“So-min isn’t yours” spat Jae-gyu. “By the gods, he’s a _person_ , Ki-nam! He’s not _anyone’s!_ ”

“He is _cursed!_ ” hissed Ki-nam. But a moment later, he seemed to visibly compose himself, stilling his sudden burst of rage. “Hmm” he said. “Well, very well. Perhaps he will come to me himself, when he finds out the… exchange that we would now be able to make. Perhaps you would even… encourage him to do so.”

Jae-gyu darted a suspicious glance at him. “ _Never._ ”

“Really? Not even… if I had someone you would very much want to exchange?”

Jae-gyu really was alarmed now. She stepped forward a few paces, coming close to her brother. His face was a little more lined now, his hair streaked with silver at the temples like her own, she thought with a twist of pain; which of them would Geon have looked more like, if he had lived? “What did you _do_?!” she said, through gritted teeth.

Ki-nam seemed to have as much hatred in his eyes as she felt welling up in her throat, choking her. He laughed, bitterly. “How long ago did you last see dear In-na? And the little one – the girl, the other cursed dragon?”

Jae-gyu’s eyes widened. “No” she spat. Her mind raced; no, no, he couldn’t mean what she thought he did. He had played with her before, had made her believe things she should never have listened to. She shouldn’t listen now.

 _And yet_ …

“What have you done?” she shouted, her voice echoing in the still of the night.

“Don’t worry! She’s safe” said Ki-nam. “As long as she doesn’t try to get away, In-na will be safe. The little one too, though of course I cannot give her up; there is no chance that I will yield control over the _next_ dragon, now that my task is almost achieved.” His eyes glimmered in the moonlight; he was unflinching as she stalked towards him, along the rooftop, holding her spear at guard. “But In-na has no dragon’s blood, and is… unlikely to give birth to a dragon child anytime soon. I can give you one small mercy, just because you are my sister. She will be safe, as long as she doesn’t try to run, and honestly, with that bad leg of hers – I was interested to learn of that, she was saving your life at the time, wasn’t she? - then I don’t think she’ll be running anywhere… so really, all you need to do is convince So-min to give himself up…”

Her stomach twisted, picturing So-min finding out about this. It was with dread that she realised that he would probably be all too willing to give himself up, if that was what it took.

Was _she_ willing, if that was what it took?

She shook her head, to banish that thought from it for good. “You’re lying!” she hurled back at him, as much to convince herself, to drive the niggling doubt away. “And I will never trade So-min’s life for In-na’s. I will not let him live out the rest of his life as a life of… of torment! I’m not making a deal with you.”

“Oh… really? Because I distinctly remember…” she saw him smile, infuriating, vindictive. “That once you _did_ make that exact trade.”

“No I…”

“You did! You bartered a…. what was it you called it? A _life of torment_ for So-min?” he shook his head, wry. “That was the choice you made once, Jae-gyu. That was what you traded. Oh, he wasn’t born yet then, but you knew what you were giving, for a little more time with In-na, and with our accursed brother.”

That was the last Jae-gyu could take. She felt anger rise in her like a red mist – and guilt, so many years of unburied guilt – and she felt it seize her, drive her forwards towards him along the span of the bridge with a fierce cry. At the last moment, she saw Ki-nam draw his sword with a fluid motion, a bright arc of curved steel in the moonlight. She still had the advantage, she knew with the part of her mind that was not overwhelmed with rage. She had the longer reach of her spear. But this was not a good place to be fighting; the drop into the ditch below yawned dark and hungry.

Still, she couldn’t stop. This was what she had been waiting for all these years, and suddenly the solution seemed clear to her; kill Ki-nam, and all this would end.

Maybe that was why _she_ was still alive, why she had survived all those years ago. Maybe that had been her real path, and any illusion of choice had been no choice at all. She was thinking this as she brought her spear up to meet his sword, bracing for the impact of steel on steel.

But that impact never came.

Instead, something else happened.

A sudden blur of motion, coming from above. A figure outlined in silver by the moon, dropping down between them from high above and behind her, where the village was. A booted foot coming up to meet the blade of her spear, a dagger in a hand shooting out to meet Ki-nam’s sword, parrying his blow.

She drew back, as So-min rose to his feet after a perfect landing on the roof, right in between them. Ki-nam looked, for a moment, almost as surprised as Jae-gyu felt, as So-min looked between them, anger and fear and suspicion and anxiety all twisted up together in his gaze. And for a moment, seeing the two of them like that, Jae-gyu was struck briefly by the resemblance between them, father and son.

A moment later though, she saw the look in So-min’s eyes; wild and desperate. “Jae-gyu!” he burst out. “Oh, thank the gods, I thought they might have got you too.” He rounded on Ki-nam with his dagger unsheathed, fury in his features, and confirmed everything that Jae-gyu had feared to be true. “You took them… didn’t you! You monster, you took Ara and In-na! Give them back!”

Ki-nam smiled. “That can be arranged.”

“So-min, no” warned Jae-gyu, from behind him. “Don’t listen to him. Don’t listen to anything he says!”

So-min frowned, looking at Ki-nam. “You… you want me to go with you, don’t you?” he still held his dagger at guard, trying to still the trembling in his fingers. Jae-gyu grimaced, could guess what was going through his head right now. She knew him well enough for that. Just now, there had been worryingly little power in that jump; though it had seemed high and strong by normal human standards, Jae-gyu had enough experience to know that it was nowhere near his full strength. She could see the gauntness to his face, the shadows under his eyes deeper now even then when she had last seen him, when they had parted at the door that same night. Her heart ached to see it, but there was not mistaking it, no hiding it from her; So-min was losing his power, he had not long to live. If he lived out what little time was left to him in chains - she knew he was thinking - then maybe that would be alright, as long as In-na and Ara were free, and the village safe.

“If you go with him, he won’t set Ara free!” said Jae-gyu, trying to stay pragmatic. “Even… even if he sets In-na free, he thinks the dragons are monsters! He’s been planning to keep you and Ara in chains! And all the dragons of the future, if he can! You mustn’t trust him.” She glared back at Ki-nam, across So-min. “I’ve learned that much, at least.”

Ki-nam scoffed. “Fine words, coming from a traitor. You betrayed both your brothers, and the woman you loved. So don’t talk about trust in front of me.”

Jae-gyu’s world narrowed around her, time slowing to a crawl as she heard Ki-nam’s words echo in the night. Words that held secrets buried, truths she hadn’t had the strength to tell to anyone who wasn’t there at the time, for they still stung, even after all these years. Her heart jumped to her throat as he spoke, and she quickly glanced at So-min.

She felt dread come like the resounding sound of the shrine’s gong the priests of the old days had rung at funerals. This was it; this moment, she realised then, would always have had to come. But she hadn’t been expecting it, not like this.

“J-Jae-gyu?” So-min asked. A slight frown line had appeared on his brow. “What does he mean by that?”

“Did she never tell you, my son?” asked Ki-nam, his eyes meeting So-min’s; So-min seemed transfixed, unable to look away in that moment. “Did my sister never tell you that she chose me over Geon? Did she never tell you about her exile?” 

So-min’s mouth dropped open, darting a glance back at Jae-gyu. “Ah, she didn’t then” said Ki-nam, a wide, insouciant smile on his face.   

So-min glared, his voice dropping to a growl as he looked at Jae-gyu. He must have found no reassurance in her eyes, for he looked back at Ki-nam. “Stop it. Tell me what you mean.”

“Once, Jae-gyu was offered a choice” said Ki-nam, his voice quiet but carrying in the night. “Between me and Geon. Home and exile. Two roads, but there could be only one way. It was either stand with one of us or the other. Do you know who Jae-gyu chose?”

So-min’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Jae-gyu; but, she found, she could do nothing but  stand there as though frozen. “I know this part. She chose Geon” growled So-min. “She told me she did!”

“Oh, she told you that, did she?”

“Yes! You hated Geon, wanted to put chains on him! Jae-gyu would _never_ choose that!” he looked back at her, breath hitching in his chest. “Would you?”

There was a long silence. Jae-gyu tried not to wince, as she imagined what he was thinking, his mind likely sifting through their conversation earlier that night. _Had it all been lies?_ That was what was surely going through his mind, and didn’t she know that feeling of distrust? Hadn’t she once been driven mad, been consumed by it? 

“ _Would_ you, Jae-gyu…?” He looked over to her, balling his hands into fists, dagger still clasped tight at his side. “ _Answer me!”_

Jae-gyu was still frozen, as though she were a statue carved from brittle stone. So-min’s eyes were almost impossible to look at but she forced herself to hold his gaze. 

“Yes, answer him” sneered Ki-nam, his voice rising. “Don’t you think you owe my son the truth, at the very least? After everything you’ve done to - ”

“All right!” shouted Jae-gyu. _This was it. No more lies. She had to make things righ_ _t, even if it meant So-min would hate her_ _._ She took a deep breath that was almost a sob, but she held her head high. “It… was many years ago, but…” she shook her head. “Whatever else that man might be… in this, he’s telling the truth.”


	19. Fight or flight

So-min’s eyes were unreadable as he stared back at her, struck momentarily silent as the pause stretched out between them. “No…” he asked, quietly. Jae-gyu opened her mouth to reply, but he frowned, gritting his teeth. “No! I can’t…” he was raising his hand to the side of his head, tugging at his green curls in distraction. “I can’t believe it was all lies…” he looked up at her, and the desperation in his face tore her heart; in that moment, he was a little boy again, waking from a nightmare, seeking reassurance. But then, it never had been Jae-gyu who was the one who could comfort him.

“Jae-gyu!” he said. “Please…”

His voice was imploring, reaching out for something, she had the impression, that even he himself could not quite name.

She had to tell him, she knew. For his sake; she knew, from the grey shadows under his eyes and the way he moved – _so like Geon, near the end_ – that he did not have long left. She owed him this, even if it was far too little, far too late. 

But how to begin? Her voice stuck in her throat; she had never planned to tell _anyone_ of this. The only one left who knew had been In-na, and Jae-gyu trusted her absolutely; how could she not, after all that had happened? Or at least, she had thought In-na was the only one; she had hoped, rather, that she would never have to see the face of her last remaining brother again.

Yet here he was, coming back as though from the dead himself, like the ghosts that had driven him to become what he was.

But there was So-min, looking up at her and knowing she had wronged him. She could see him drawing conclusions already; did he think her better or worse than she was? She frowned. She had to tell him. She owed him that much, and more. 

“It’s… It’s true” she said, again. “I… I did once choose to stand by Ki-nam’s side, rather than Geon’s.”

So-min gritted his teeth, fighting back tears. “ _Why?_ ” his voice, that one single word, stung like a slap to her face. In her mind, the word twisted and stretch itself to cover all her mistakes, all her family that she had hurt in her willful blindness back then, had failed to protect since.

She looked him in the eye. “I was wrong. And I can explain everything - ”

“There’s nothing to listen to!” broke in Ki-nam, his voice hard as a whip’s crack. A moment later, though, his face had smoothed out, turning to an almost indulgent smile, endless patience. “So-min, my son, perhaps we… perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, before. Perhaps we could… try again?”

“Don’t listen to him, So-min!”

Ki-nam smiled again; it disturbed her a little, how he had learned to change his whole demeanor so quickly. He had become someone that people believed and trusted, even more than he had ever been. _Not that she hadn’t fallen for that once too_ , Jae-gyu reminded herself with a wince. She watched as Ki-nam reached out a hand to So-min, as she watched. “She lied to you, kidnapped you, she _betrayed_ you…”

“He would have kept you in _chains!_ ” snarled Jae-gyu, her face dark with hatred. “Like the dark days of this village. His own _son_. He doesn’t care about you! From the moment you were born you were just a monster to him, to be kept locked up! I… I may have lied to you So-min, but… at least it wasn’t that! You… you had your freedom, your - ”

“Oh, even now you’re _still_ trying to turn my son against me? Haven’t you done enough?”

Jae-gyu gritted her teeth, frustration and guilt rising painfully, blocking her throat. “Don’t listen to him. If he pretends to care about you – if he pretends to care about anyone but his damn self and his revenge – then he’s just lying! It’s all lies!”

“ _Stop it!_ Both of you!”

They both fell silent at So-min’s words, stunned by his sudden outburst.

Ki-nam recovered first. “Son, if you would just - ”

“ _No!_ And you _don’t_ get to call me son, not until I understand what really happened,” said So-min, he looked between them, his heart beating in his ears with anger and confusion. “Jae-gyu, please…” he looked at her imploringly. “You said you could explain. Then explain.”

“She’ll only tell you more lies, So-min.”

“Quiet. I’ll be the judge of that.”

He turned back to Jae-gyu, and she opened her mouth, taking a deep shuddering breath and bowing a little. “Th-thank you, So-min. For giving me a chance.”

“Just tell me what really happened. No lies this time.”

Jae-gyu nodded, smiling bitterly as she lowered her spear. “No lies” she agreed. She took a deep breath. And she began to tell him the truth. She told him about the fear she had felt when In-na had told her that she was pregnant, that irrational, cloying foreboding. Of how she had argued with her, and with Geon too. About the rift that had grown between them, that felt like tearing her whole heart in two, the rift that she had torn wider anyway, because she was young and proud and probably a little more jealous than she had admitted even to herself. She told So-min about how she had started speaking to Ki-nam, and about the prophecy – the promise of two paths - in halting words, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. How she had known about So-min’s birth. The cruel bargain she had been so convinced she had had to make.

All the while, Ki-nam simply stood there opposite her, on So-min’s other side, watchful and tense as a cat. But there was a small smile on his face, Jae-gyu thought in the dim light of the moon. She didn’t like it; it filled her with foreboding, so she looked determinedly away, forcing herself to look back at So-min, as she told him about Geon’s fight with Ki-nam, and how she had intervened.

“It was against the treaty that had once united the village to raise a blade or strike a blow against the Ryokuryuu on our own soil” she said. “So Ki-nam was exiled, with any who chose to go with him… and many did.”

“And… and you?”

“I had fought on his side…” she couldn’t help a glance back at Ki-nam then, who tilted his head expectantly, as though to say, _tell him. Tell him what you did_. She swallowed. “Archivist Bo-seon – as he was then – tried to bend the rules for me. He tried to argue that I had been doing it in defence of my brother, but it was no good. It was the wrong brother’s side I had fought on…” her grip tightened on her spear. “Everyone in the village had witnessed it, and… So-min, you can’t understand what it was like, then. We feared war amongst ourselves at any moment. So… I had the choice. I went with him, into exile, so that the treaty would not be broken.” She gestured to Ki-nam, gritting her teeth. “I knew what I was doing. I knew that Geon and In-na would both live on, without me there, as he had foretold. I expected to die, too, somewhere along the way.”

“But you didn’t!” interjected Ki-nam, his voice cutting and sharp, accusatory. “You defied the will of the gods, you chose one path then crossed to the other! You lived, and you stayed by my side, until you betrayed me.”

“Quiet!” snapped Jae-gyu. “You can’t speak poison to me anymore. I know that the only reason you cared to keep me at your side was to take away someone Geon loved dearly. You couldn’t get to In-na – she was always too strong to listen to lies – but you… you could get to me. And I know now, it was only to try to hurt him…”

“Not only” said Ki-nam. “There was a time, Jae-gyu, when I genuinely thought that I could save you, make you see that our brother… he was the cause of all the village’s problems.” His face darkened. “But I learned better when you betrayed me.” He gritted his teeth, fury in his eyes, which were cast starkely black against the glow of the moonlight against his skin. “And you didn’t even have the grace to die for it.”

“No!” spat Jae-gyu, angry now. “No, I didn’t die! Though the gods know that there were times that I wish I had… but I had In-na and Geon to save me! I survived, I put my past behind me and became better, because of them! And _despite_ you!”

“Slow down, please” said So-min, tense but a little weary. “Please. I need you to tell me what happened.”

She nodded, shakily, and resumed her tale. “I travelled… for two years with Ki-nam, and the group of followers that had chosen to go with him into exile. They were hard, those years; I survived by holding on to one thing, that I had bought In-na and Geon – and Joona, though then I thought I would never see my niece - more time, to be a family. But…” she shook her head. “I was wrong, So-min. I was wrong. Because you see…” she gritted her teeth. “I knew that you would be born, that you would be Ki-nam’s child. We both did. And I had thought that seeing you suffer every day was a price I was willing to pay, but then - ”

“Then you saw him” said Ki-nam, cutting. All the softness, the feigned kindness, was gone from his voice, and all that was left was bitterness. “And you stepped off the path you had chosen. I had thought it would take more… but then, perhaps I never did know you very well, Jae-gyu.”

“He had you chained up from the very first moment he could find shackles small enough to fit a baby!” Jae-gyu spoke through gritted teeth. “So soon after you were born, he took you from your mother – and don’t think for a moment that she is innocent in this, Miju was complicit all along, if only in her silence – and he put manacles on your ankles and bars on your crib. And for what?” she was angry now. “The will of the gods? Revenge? No, I don’t think it was even that. The world had been cruel to you, brother, as a child… so you wanted to hurt another child? And there he was, given into your grasp.” She looked back at So-min, whose cheeks were wet with tears, glimmering in the moonlight. “There you were” she said to him. “And suddenly, I knew I had made the wrong choice, before.”

“I see…” he frowned. She felt a stab of pity; how many times, in such a short period, had So-min had all he knew torn out from under him? “So… that was when you… decided to kidnap me?”

She dropped her gaze. “I only wish I had been as brave as that, for then maybe a lot of suffering could have been averted.” She looked up at him. “No. What I did then was… I ran away from the camp.”

“You… ran away?”

“Yes. Back to the village, specifically… after all, there was someone I knew who had the power of the gods at his disposal, which I hoped would suffice to break into the camp."  
  
So-min smiled, understanding. “Geon?”

She nodded. “Even though I had no guarantee Geon would help me after I’d left as I did, I had to believe that he and In-na would still want to help the next generation.” She sighed. “And it just happened that we were wintering in the mountains of the wind tribe, not far away from the village… certainly closer than we had camped before. It was too perfect. I took it as a sign, I think; I couldn’t stand by any longer, So-min. I knew I had to save you, though I didn’t exactly know how yet. The perimeter of the camp was so heavily guarded, and if I had tried to smuggle you out myself someone would have caught me.”  
“I would have had you killed” said Ki-nam, with icy surety. “There and then. I _should_ have done it.”

“But you didn’t” said Jae-gyu, equally coldly. “And so, I was able to slip away. Getting out of the camp was the easy part. No one cared that much if _I_ left… I wasn’t a prisoner exactly. I was an exile, just like the rest. In fact, I would often come and go as I pleased from the camp. It wasn’t like I was welcome anywhere else, especially at the village, exile and traitor that I was, who had cut ties with the family I had left behind.” She paused, remembering. _She had simply stood tall and walked out past the guards; they didn’t care, as long as she came and went alone. That wasn’t what she had been afraid of, then; her mind had been full of fear for the baby in the barred crib that she was leaving behind. But she was also afraid of what awaited her at her journey’s end; she didn’t want to see accusation in her brother’s eyes, in In-na’s eyes._ _And s_ _he didn’t_ _know if she was strong enough_ _to see the life they had made together_ _without her_ _, though she had sacrificed all to allow them to have it. She didn’t want to see how the space she had occupied in both their hearts had been filled._ _Afraid to see the scar she had left behind, but even more afraid to see it healed over smoothly._

“What did you do?”

“I came back to the village in secret” she said. _Climbing down this very ditch, under the bridge’s span, keeping carefully to its shadow to avoid being caught, and exile returning home in desperate need. Climbing in under the boards like a thief in the night, aided by the very fact that she had lived most of her life in the complicated tangle of boardwalks and highwalks and piers and ropes that strung the village together_.

“And you went to ask In-na and Geon for help?”

Jae-gyu shook her head. “I was not brave enough then, even for that. I went to Bo-seon’s house, swore him to secrecy that I had been there at all.” She sighed, remembered standing in front of the archivist’s door, meeting his frowning gaze as she threw back her hood in the fridgid winter night. “I made him tell Geon and In-na what I knew, though not who had brought word. I made him tell them that their anonymous informant would be waiting to help them with a rescue, if they chose to come. I gave them everything they needed.”

“And what did you do then?”

Jae-gyu shrugged. “I went back to the camp. And I waited. And… one night in winter… they came.”

So-min breathed out. “And that was when In-na… got hurt?”

Jae-gyu grimaced, nodding slowly. “It went wrong. They were never supposed to see me, but…” she shook her head. “I didn’t want to kill the guards, if I didn’t have to. That was… stupid of me. Someone raised the alarm, and Miju came running, and I knocked her unconscious. I panicked, then.” Jae-gyu winced. “But I ran into Geon. He had been sent in to get you, while In-na watched the perimeter. She was in the canopy of trees by the road, with her bow trained down on the camp.” _She remembered the shock in Geon’s eyes, as he had recognised her, as she had held up a finger to her lips to keep him silent and slit the canvas side of the covered wagon where So-min had been kept, both a nursery and a prison, festooned with signs and offerings to ward evil. She had winced as she had watched Geon_ _break the lock_ _of the rudimentary cage_ _around the cradle_ _with a solid kick from his dragon’s foot, causing it to explode and to set the baby inside_ _to wailing_ _as Geon hastily broke open his chains, bundling him up in furs with chilled hands and tucking him inside his cloak. He had given Jae-gyu one last look as he had turned away to leave, to jump into the sky before someone came running. Her heart had been in her mouth the whole time; she wanted to speak to her brother, to run with him,_ _to tell him so much, to pour out her heart and beg for forgiveness._

_B_ _ut more_ _than that_ _, she wanted him gone from this place. She wanted him safe, and her own_ _task done_ _, to whatever fate that may lead for her. She wanted things made right. And so, she had met his eye when he stared at her only for a moment, before hushing him again, pushing him away and back towards the torn canvas._

_Then the opposite wall had exploded, in a slash of bright steel. “Go!” she had cried; one word that would never be enough to contain all she needed to say. One more, then; “fly!”_

_He must have seen something in her eyes; they always had been good at reading each other.  For just as soon as that, Geon was gone. Jae-gyu had whirled around, spear in hand, preparing to fight to the death, to buy Geon some time… only to see a face just as familiar._

“I nearly had you!” snarled Ki-nam, breaking into her recollection. “You should have _died_!”

Jae-gyu smiled, evenly. “But I didn’t. And this time, I can say that with pride, for the cause was one I will always fight for.” She looked back at So-min. “I fought Ki-nam to buy them the time they needed to get away.” As she spoke, her memories of that night came back, clear and bright. _The snow had been falling, sounds muffled and strange, their breath sharp and ethereal clouds of fog as she threw herself at him, into the night_. “But I… it was a close thing.” She raised a hand to the place where the old scar sliced across her back. “It was true what I told you, you know. I was wounded… very badly. I could easily have bled to death. I still wasn’t so used to fighting without Geon, and all it took was one moment of leaving my back open…” she shook her head, remembering despite herself. _Her own blood, sluicing hot down her shoulder as she half lay in the snow, her palms turning numb with cold as she scrabbled at the blood-_ _soaked ground_ _beneath, her mind fogging over with pain and shock. Her entire being screaming at her to get up, turn around, parry the killing blow that must surely fall. Wondering if she had the strength to save herself. Wondering if she had any reason to, any more._

_That was when it had happened._

_An arrow, darting through the snow from above. She had turned her head quickly enough to see Ki-nam with his sword raised, forced to dodge as the arrow arced towards him; it was enough to make the blow go wide, blade sinking into the snowy ground beside her._

_From above… was it Geon? That was her first thought, but no, she realised. She heard an enraged cry, and she looked up to the edge of the forest, where it had come from, squinting her tear-blurred eyes in the darkness. In-na was caught in the glow amid the branches in a swirl of snow, transcendent in what little moonlight flickered through the scudding snow clouds. Her beautiful face had been twisted with righteous fury, and the point of another drawn arrow glinted with deadly sharpness, and Jae-gyu knew then that the one before had been a warning shot only; that this one would find its target, wherever that might be._

_Her mouth had opened, caught in a cry that was both joy and fear. There In-na was as clear as day, standing up in the crook of the tree, where before she had been hidden. Jae-gyu hadn’t been able to see much from this distance, but she could see enough; she saw the bow, the arrows. She looked at the arrow shuddering in the ground beside Ki-nam, and she recognised its elegant grey fletching, and she could have wept. She did, in fact; hot, stinging tears of relief and love, and terror at what was to come._

“I was…. I was fighting _him_ ” she cast Ki-nam a foul look. “And In-na was in that tree covering Geon’s back, as he carried you in his arms, to safety. But In-na, beautiful reckless _idiot_ In-na… she on the branch when she saw that I was in danger for my life. To create a distraction, give me the chance I needed to get away… they shot at her, and she fell…” Jae-gyu shook her head, and there were tears in her eyes. _It had happened so quickly; In-na had_ _never even had the chance to let that_ _drawn arrow_ _fly._ _For in a moment t_ _he cry went up amongst the guards; Jae-gyu and Ki-nam had not been the only ones to see her clearly._ _In-na_ _was a target in plane sight, and her attention was all on Jae-gyu on the ground, and Ki-nam about to land his killing blow. The arrow had travelled towards_ _In-na_ _like a bright streak of destiny_ _to hit her in the upper part of her thigh_ _before Jae-gyu could even scream,_ _and then In-na had been falling, falling from the branch high above to a bone-shattering landing amid the tree roots._ Jae-gyu sighed. “Even though she didn’t know then that I had helped Geon to get you out. She was nearly killed trying to save me, fully believing I had betrayed her and never gone back on it. You asked for the truth? Well, the truth is I have never deserved her… and I have spent the rest of my life trying to make it right.”

There was a long, long silence, as So-min stared into Jae-gyu’s eyes. They shone with tears, which nevertheless didn’t fall, as she held her head high.

“Is that really the truth?” he said, very quietly. “Is that everything?”

Jae-gyu nodded, solemn. “It is.”

There was a short silence.

“Son…” said Ki-nam, turning to So-min, voice strangely soft again, almost cajoling.

“Don’t call me son!”

“So-min, surely you can’t believe her… she’s lied so much, she’s only raised you to assuage her guilt over - ”

“Is it true?”

Ki-nam faltered at So-min’s interruption. “What?” He subsided, fixing a smile on his face, the kind that made the skin around his eyes crinkle. A warm smile; a smile like a father might give to his beloved son. “You mean what she said about me putting you in chains? Of course not, do you really believe - ”

“I _do_ believe Jae-gyu. More than I trust _you_ , anyway” said So-min coldly. “But alright. Fine. I have just one more question… and tell me the truth, _father_ ” he all but spat. “ _Did you kill Joona_?”

Jae-gyu caught her breath, in the tense silence that followed. But then, she frowned as something else happened. For a moment, both of them each turned their heads, as though starting at something to the side of where they stood, that Jae-gyu couldn’t see. They each looked for a long time; she couldn’t see So-min’s face, as his back was turned to her, but she could see Ki-nam’s eyes widen in… could that possibly be a note of fear?

Still, almost as soon as the moment had come, it passed. It was Ki-nam who drew himself away first. He stared back at So-min, his eyes very bright; he spread his hands with an apologetic smile. “Ah… well, you see, there had to be a death. The paths had been crossing for too long, where long ago I saw two, side by side but never meeting. A death… it would have been the death of that child, on the day she was born.” Ki-nam met Jae-gyu’s eye as he said that. “Yes, that was the death I saw, the path that Jae-gyu chose to turn away from, to offer herself and you in exchange. And whether it was In-na then or her daughter decades later… well, either would serve to untangle the two paths, in the end.” He turned back to So-min. “I am the gods’ mouthpiece, and their agent, and both are a terrible burden… but here I am innocent of blame. It was my sister’s choice, to step away from the choice she had made once fate was set. I was only setting things back to rights.”

“No!” spat So-min. He was balling his hands into fist, in fury. “No, that _can’t_ be how the world is… you don’t _make_ the prophecies come true! We can all choose our own paths! I refuse to believe otherwise!”

But Ki-nam was shaking his head. “So-min, you have to understand… you don’t have it, that weight of prophecy. You don’t know what it’s like to have to pick apart the many threads, to try to understand how they interweave…”

“But not to tie them into whatever pattern you choose!”

Ki-nam frowned. “Please believe me when I say that I really didn’t _want_ to kill her. At the very least, she didn’t have to die in so much pain. If she’d just given up the cursed dragon child as was my due - just and fair repayment for those three taking you from me!” He was tilting his head to one side and smiling, that slight regretful smile. “It could all have ended in less pain. But then… she had to put up such a fight.”

For a split second So-min simply stared, wide eyed and shocked, Jae-gyu recognised the look on his face; he was overwhelmed with anger, it was building in his chest. Then he was screaming, and he lunged at Ki-nam, propelling himself along the narrow roof of the walk with as much power as was left in his dragon’s leg, slipping Jae-gyu’s grasp even as she cried out, tried to hold him back. He knocked Ki-nam to the wooden slats, and they fell together, tumbling down over the side of the bridge and into the muddy ditch below. So-min landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him, but immediately he was dragging himself up. Jae-gyu ran along the roof of the bridge, scrambling down its slimy wooden pier to the bottom of the ditch in time to see So-min got to his feet, faster than his father could, pressing his dragon’s foot down on Ki-nam’s throat and staring down for a long moment. So-min’s breath came sharp and hard in his chest. Their eyes met, and in Ki-nam’s eyes, Jae-gyu knew that So-min saw fear, but more than that, he saw hatred and admiration and - worst of all – a twisted kind of love, the culmination of years of hunting, all mingled into one. A face that taunted. A face that said, _I’d like to see you try_.

So-min could do it, Jae-gyu knew. He could stamp viciously down on his own father’s throat, could kill him right there, make his blood soak into the damp soil outside the village. It would probably be better for everyone he loved if he did.

So what was he waiting for? The moment stretched out, and it seemed the outside world slowed down. Their faces were so similar, Jae-gyu realised once more, immediately feeling that sense of surrealism again; but there were lines on Ki-nam’s skin now, grey in his hair. A life lived, with more to come if he survived this day, not cut short, like So-min’s would be so very soon.

He wasn’t going to do it, Jae-gyu realised. He could… it would be easy for him, even with his fading power. The choice was tearing him apart inside, and she could understand. But he wasn’t a killer at heart; that she realised even as she saw his fist trembling, knuckles white as he clung to thin air before him, every muscle tense. She couldn’t see his eyes as his thick green curls of hair covered them, but she could see tears dripping down his cheeks and chin. He could… but he wouldn’t do it. He was so much better than she had ever been.

Gently, tentatively, Jae-gyu walked over to him, laying a hand on his arm. “So-min.”

He looked up, eyes red-rimmed, wide as a child’s. “Jae-gyu.”

“You don’t have to” said Jae-gyu, gesturing to Ki-nam.  

“What?”

“….You don’t have to kill him.”

“I should though. For the good of the village….”

Jae-gyu shook her head, looking down at Ki-nam in sorrow. “Too many terrible things have been done for the good of this village.”

So-min opened his mouth, let loose the pressure of his foot on Ki-nam’s throat. His father sat up, rubbing his neck and glaring up at them both. “Very noble, sister.”

“Oh no, don’t mistake this for mercy” said Jae-gyu, anger flaring within her again. “I would you myself, but only in a fair fight.” She touched So-min’s arm. “I won’t have you carry a moment like this to your grave.”

He nodded, unable to speak.

Suddenly, there came a scream from the direction of the village, tearing the night’s stillness.

They all turned to look just in time to see the glow of torchlight. Jae-gyu’s eyes widened in sudden, genuine fear; from where they stood in the ditch surrounding the village, she could just see a sliver of the gentle, terraced hillside, but she could see clearly enough the points of light that were moving down it. _Too many of them… where had all these people come from, while they were distracted?_ She thought she knew, with a solidifying dread weighing down her heart.

Jae-gyu whirled back to Ki-nam, the point of her spear at his throat in an instant. “What did you _do_?” she shouted. “I should have known better than to trust you. It’s us you want, but you kidnap In-na and Ara, then send in some rabble to hurt innocents!”

“They’re not a rabble and I didn’t send them!” growled Ki-nam. Jae-gyu was alarmed to see there was confusion in his own eyes too. He frowned. “I told them to stay back at the camp…”

“Oh, so you only lost control of them? That’s _much_ better” said Jae-gyu cuttingly, rolling her eyes. “It’s just as bad… you got them so riled with your teachings of their birthright and how they should hate the usurpers…” she shook her head. “You never intended this to end in peace.” She spat. “For all your talk of protecting people of our blood from harm, of being a good and just leader to them, of prophecies and fate, you really just wanted revenge all along.”

Ki-nam sat up, eyes narrowing once more, his moment of vulnerability apparently quite gone. “What do you know of any of this? You’re just a coward, and a traitor.”

“Well, maybe I am. I would betray you every day of my life if it meant I was protecting my family!”

“You are afraid! Even now!”

“You’re a bitter, twisted man, who warps the word of the gods to suit his need for revenge, and I will _not_ listen to you!”

“You’re a traitor to - ”

“ _Enough!_ ” said So-min. “Jae-gyu, the village….”

She stared at him, then nodded. “You should go and alert them, help them prepare for an attack, since one really does seem imminent now.” She grimaced. “Maybe Bo-seon will actually believe it when he sees a wave of torches pouring across the hill. But either way… you can do more good there than here.”

He dropped his voice, surreptitious. “My power is failing…” he winced. Had never told anyone like that before. Never outright. “I’m not sure how long it’s going to last…”

For a moment her eyes widened. Then, without even thinking of what she was doing, she leaned forward and hugged him tight. For a moment he went rigid in her arms, but then he relaxed into the hug, pressing his face into her shoulder, his hair tickling her face. She counted the seconds as she held him – time was scarce now, it had always been so scarce – and then pulled away, her hand on one of his shoulders. “Then go and do what you can with the time left to you. Make it _count_ , So-min.” She sighed, taking his hand, pressing something into it. She hesitated for just a moment, before clasping his hand around the object. “Do something you won’t regret.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, a question in his eyes, as he clasped his fist closed.

But the question went unasked. He nodded. “Then…. I’ll see you in the skies.”

And then he turned away.

* * *

So-min held his hand close to his chest, feeling the nervous beat of his pulse around the small metal object that was clasped within it. He didn’t know why Jae-gyu had given it to him, or what it meant, but he could guess. There was only one reason Jae-gyu would part with something like that. His heart ached just thinking about it, but he forced it out of his mind for the moment.

He opened his palm just once, seeing a violet drop-shaped pearl on his palm, the small imprints where the metal of the earring had bitten into his skin a comfort, almost. Grounding and real, when everything else was falling into nothing on all sides. 

He slipped it into his inside pocket, where it would be safe. 

So-min had just jumped up and out of the ditch and over the small wooden parapet around the village’s main platform when it happened. He was just about to take another step - and he could hear shouts from up ahead, in the central ring close to where his own house was - when he felt a sudden impact, like a blow to the chest even though there was nothing there. Instantly, his leg felt like it was made of water, and he stumbled, falling to his knees, dizziness washing over him. 

He gritted his teeth, biting down on his lip in dread as he rolled back his trouser leg with an effort. _Please, dragon god, not now. Just a little longer. Let me save them. Please not now_ ….

He let out a pained sound, a choking sob welling in his throat, even as weakness flooded him. The scales were gone. He slipped off his boot to check; sure enough, there was a regular human foot, the match for his left. He felt suddenly very old, and clumsy, and earthbound. This was it. He would never fly to the sky again, in the short time that was left to him. This was the end.

Then he realised something else.   

At the same moment as he had felt his power recede, he had felt Ara’s brilliant green presence grow stronger. She was blazing like a star in his head, despite the haze that had washed over his sense of the other dragons at the same moment his power had left him. But no, that couldn’t be right. He blinked, pressed his hands over his eyes until he saw stars, willing it to not be true. 

But in his heart, So-min knew that his sense of her wasn’t wrong, despite his weakened state. And what it told him made him force himself, grunting and crying out, to his feet, facing the village under attack while supporting himself on a wooden beam. Ara was _here_. He didn’t know how or why, but she was close by… on the hillside, perhaps? 

Yes, somewhere behind the crowd of people running down the terraces, and she was coming closer, following them in long, powerful leaps. He gritted his teeth. _What did she think she was doing?_ It didn’t matter though, he realised; she had to be in danger.   

So-min drew in a breath, summoning what was left of his strength. He still had a little time left to live. And he was going to use it to save Ara, and save the village, or die in the attempt.     

* * *

Far away, Zeno was walking along a dirt road, when felt the sensation he had come to know; a dragon losing their power. It tugged at his heart as it always did; _young, they died so young_. 

But this one… his eyes widened, as he felt for the sensation, traced it. _Ryokuryuu_. He had been dreading this, if only because he had met this one, and the other. His heart ached; it was always worse when he came to know them, which was why he usually avoided them if at all possible.

But not this time, apparently. It bothered him, the knowing. He had learned to numb grief over these many years, by not knowing, by guarding his heart against them, by blocking them out. 

And yet, when Zeno had met that small, vulnerable girl in the grey winter woods four months ago, he had… well, he had had a lapse. He had stopped, and he had comforted her, and he had let her into his heart. Maybe not into his secrets, but yes, she had found her way into his heart almost immediately as he had sat beside her on the tree branch, holding her small form tightly in his arms as she had shaken with sobs for the loss of her mother. Later, he had even checked on her, and he had met the other Ryokuryuu, her predecessor; Zeno had left too soon, slightly disturbed by how easy it was to come to love them. 

And how soon the older one would die. For here it was; Zeno could always sense the ebb and flow of the dragons’ powers, even when he tried to block them out. But there was something else here too; he could sense fear coming through both streams of the Ryokuryuu blood, one young and reckless, lost and desperate and searching, the other raging against the fading of his power, trying to fight even now to cling on to life, for one more task was left to him. Both reaching for the other through their inexorably weakening bond. 

Zeno paused on the road, torn two ways as a traitorous thought took root in his ancient heart. He could go them. He could help; they were not far away, he could probably make it in time.

He didn’t know what danger they faced, but perhaps… perhaps he could at least help them find each other, if only to say goodbye. It was the least he could do.He hesitated for a long, long moment, before sighing; well, perhaps he had could make exceptions. There would be other times to guard his heart; when the other dragons were not crying out in pain. He was unable to be harmed, after all. He could bear pain, and he would bear it for them. 

Zeno turned, and, picking up a stone from the roadside, he gritted his teeth and began to hack at the tendons of his ankles, until blood began to pour through from the broken skin, soaking the legs of his trousers. But he ignored it, and the pain, and after a moment, the gush of blood ceased, as bright scales came through, running all up his ankles and feet, up to his knees.

He took a deep breath, turned around to where he could sense the bright, yearning green. He noted the direction of the rising night wind, and jumped into the sky.


	20. Interlude - The war is over, and we are beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Since it’s the holidays, something a bit different…. this is a sort of explanatory interlude before we get to the climactic chapters. It was originally meant as a side-story but got more plot-relevant and serious than I had planned, and I think it works well at this stage in the story. The title is from the song [In Our Bedroom After the War](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5qx_ZMY7tU) by Stars, which is the intended mood of the latter half of this and also something this chapter could very well be a montage/AMV of if this were a visual medium)

_**[Twenty-four years ago - aftermath]** _

The snow was still coming down when Ki-nam crossed the camp from the healer’s tent, returning to his own. His wounded arm still ached beneath the bandages, the skin stinging and prickling a little where the stitches had gone in, but the bleeding had stopped at least. And at any rate, the pain felt dull in comparison to the roaring in his head. He barely even felt the cold; the ghosts were too close tonight, pressing in on the edges of his mind with an insistence they hadn’t had for years, forcing him to fight for control.

There was a great sword-slash in the side of the tent neighbouring his own, made by his own blade only hours before. He knew that if he parted the curled canvas, he would find broken chains, a cage that had been undone by the strength of a dragon’s power; his brother’s power.

He remembered the sight that had met his eyes when he had slashed through the wall, Geon standing there holding the child wrapped in a blanket, the broken chains, his traitor sister looking out at him from the depths of a hood with wide, apprehensive eyes.

A vision from the gods had alerted him, but Ki-nam had come too late to stop them, a poor human failing of his own. And all the while the ghosts had pressed closer, their voices threatening to come back, to drown him once more in a cacophony of tortured voices.

It had been just another moment upon which the future hinged, Ki-nam knew, that drawn-out moment when their eyes had met, the three reunited once more. And he had failed; his brother and his sister were once again to blame – _just as they were for when father died,_ he thought, hands balled into furious fists, nails digging into his palms – but the fact remained; Ki-nam should have been there sooner. He could have changed the course of the future.

This knowledge was part of the reason the ghosts were so close tonight, the weight of it threatening to crush him as he thought of how he had _had_ the cursed dragon child – his own son, granted to him to control and manage – safely under lock and key, but he had let him slip away.

They would be far away now, Ki-nam knew.

And now he knew – since the voice that had come to him in the healer’s tent – that he must resist the urge to follow. He just didn’t understand _why_ yet, and it frustrated him more than he could say.

He tore his gaze away from the slashed cloth of the tent, and turned to the flap of his own, ducking inside with a shiver and a flurry of snow.

Within the lamp was lit. Miju sat beside it, poring over a map of the area. When Ki-nam entered, she raised her head to meet his eye; her face was bruised across the jaw and her lip was split. He had heard that she had been watching over So-min and Jae-gyu had knocked her out cold to reach him.

“I’ve calculated the distance” said Miju, urgent and abrupt. “If we hurry, dispatch all the horse archers we have, we can still reach them before they make it to the village. We can surround Geon when he lands – do you know how often he has to land? - or if there is a chance, perhaps we can capture either In-na or Jae-gyu to use as ransom… they’re both wounded, is that correct? Your brother is weak and sentimental, he’ll surely give up the child for either’s sake, and - ”

“Miju” said Ki-nam, cutting her off. “We can’t go after them now.”

She blinked, stunned. “But… by the time they reach the village we’ll have no chance! We are a band of exiles, and it’s too well-protected… but we have a window of - ”

“Miju. Stop.” He laid his hands on top of hers on the map, holding them still. “He’s… he’s out of our grasp now. We can’t get him back.”

She stood up, confusion in her face. “But we must still try! Our son- I mean, that child… your brother is getting away, with that cursed dragon child!” She turned her hands so that they were holding his, eyes burning. “Don’t you want to get him back? What about the task and the sacred duty the gods gave to you?”

 _The gods_ … what _did_ they want of him, truly? He dropped his gaze, feeling his face heat in anger again. His wound stung all the more, knowing that the gods had not protected him as he had thought they would. “The gods…” he shook his head, teeth gritting together in anger as he forced the words out. “The gods… they were not with me tonight, Miju. Not while I was fighting, at least.”

Her eyes widened. “Ki-nam… are you sure? Perhaps you were being tested…?”

We flinched away from her touch, which suddenly felt like burning. _If he was being tested, then did his defeat mean that he had failed?_ “I think” he said stiffly, “that there must be some other path that I am meant to take. Perhaps we were _meant_ to lose the boy, so that we may gain something else. So that I can become stronger and return to claim my destiny as the custodian of the dragons later.”

Ki-nam had to believe that was true. His mind went back to the tent of the healer, who had been stitching his wound, the apprentice giving him a herbal tea to drink for his pain. The way that for a moment the scene had faded around him. The sound of that resounding voice in his head. _The dragon is lost to you. Your_ _path_ _lies away from your brother and sister; do not follow. Find a new_ _course_ _,_ _travel far from home_ _and win the trust of others without chains or shackles._ _Only then may you return to the village that was your home._ _Divided, you are weaker. Y_ _ou have been given a chance to gather the scattered blood of the dragon. That is the path that stretches before you, and if you take it your name shall be heard down the ages as the one who brought the bearers of the dragon’s blood within walls that will not fall until a new age dawns._ _You have the power to bring peace, if only you choose the right path._

He didn’t understand what it meant; he was the one who was destined to return to the village, to keep the Ryokuryuu from destroying their people, was he not? Surely that was the only peace for their people. But if it also meant that he could take revenge on his brother and sister, then surely that did not affect the gods one way or the other.

Ki-nam had snapped up into full alertness as the needle tugged at the flesh of his arm, where Jae-gyu’s spear-blade had sliced through his leather bracer, down through muscle and to the bone.

He had bitten down hard enough on his lip to draw blood in its own right, though when the healer had offered him more of that numbing tea he had found his other hand darting out as the voices roared in his head, sending the ceramic pot and cup flying out of the half-open tent flap to shatter against the hard-frozen ground.

Miju frowned. “What must we do?”

“I…” it pained him to say it. “I don’t know. I need to…” his hands were shaking, grasping reflexively for the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there, anything that he could grip to keep the encroaching ghosts at bay. As long as he had the gods on his side, then the ghosts of the dragons past couldn’t reach him. That was how it had been that time, nine years ago… that was how it had always been. He gritted his teeth, chewed on the inside of his cheek, clasping  his hands together to try to stop them shaking. “I must… I must meditate, try to resume contact with…”

But Miju was shaking her head, a pitying look in her eye. “No. Rest, that’s what you need. Some food, and then sleep until morning.” She took his hands in hers, cradling them loosely. “Come, I can get you some more poppy tea for the pain. You are wounded, weak…”

“ _I’m not weak!_ ” Ki-nam shouted, the voice tearing out of his chest all at once. At the same moment, before he realised what he was doing, he was throwing out his good hand in a back-handed slap, catching her across the face with a sickening crunch, so she fell backwards with a cry of more surprise than pain. She looked up at him from the floor, eyes wide and round with shock, the cut on her lip reopened and her nose now bleeding freely too, dark blood running down her face and dripping onto the matts on the floor of the tent.

They both stood there for a moment, frozen. It was Ki-nam who moved first. “Oh, gods, Miju I’m so sorry…” he quickly got down on his knees, helping her up as best he could with his injured hand. She came with him limply, still stunned; in all their fighting for survival in exile with their little band of followers, despite the violent storms that had always raged inside his head, he had never ever hurt her before. In each other, they had always found a little sanctuary of peace, the two of them against a violent world.

Miju kept staring at him as stood before her, feeling guilt rushing up at him. “Miju…” he said. “I…. yes, I should rest… I’m not…” Ki-nam clutched his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “You’re right. Everything’s gone wrong….”

But to his surprise, he felt warm arms go around him. “Shhh” she whispered in his ear. He could feel her warm hair against the side of his face. “Hush. Rest now.”

“Do… do you forgive me?” It shouldn’t be so important to him, he knew, whether she did or didn’t; he was the servant of the gods. But at the same time, he didn’t know what he’d do without her. She had been at his side so long, and in exile, he realised, he needed her more than ever.

“I forgive you” whispered Miju.

Ki-nam raised his head, bringing his hand up to gently brush her face. “You’re bleeding…”

Miju pursed her lips, critically. “It hurts less than the other” she said, touching the bruise on her jaw. “Ki-nam… I wanted to tell you I’m sorry, it was my fault So-min was stolen away, my fault for being too slow. I should have known Jae-gyu would prove to be a traitor. I shouldn’t have let her get as far as she did, and I should have been there at your side. If anyone it was me who wasn’t strong enough, and - ”

She broke off though, as he raised his hand to cover her lips. “Hush” he said, his mind working quickly; something had just occurred to him, the words sent to him in the healer’s tent still ringing in his ears. _Divided, you are weaker_. “It’s not your fault… besides, I have been given another task.”

Her eyes darted up to meet his. “What?”

“The dragon’s blood” he said, standing up straight. “We are not the only exiles in this land, nor are we the only people outside the village who bear the blood.”

Miju frowned. “Yes, you’re right… I’ve heard tell of pockets of green-haired villagers all over the country, from the northern mountains of the Fire Tribe, to the border with Xing. But… what does that have to do with anything? Are you suggesting - ”

She broke off, as he raised a finger. “It’s more than a suggestion” Ki-nam said, eyes shining now. “It’s a revelation. How to control the dragons? Keep a child locked up, yes, but then the next generation may be born outside our grasp. We were thinking too small all along, Miju!” he took her hands in his. “How to control the dragons? Control everyone with the blood from which they are born, or will be born, of course.”

“But… how could you ever hope to do that?” asked Miju. “We have so few with who came into exile with us. Fewer now, after today’s battle. We don’t have the numbers to attack and capture them, let alone keep them - ”

But Ki-nam was shaking his head. “I’m not talking about captives, Miju. I’m talking about _followers_. We don’t have the strength to keep them by force. But I do have something else… I have the word of the gods on my side. And I understand the plight of those who fall under the curse of the dragon, who have grown up so far from the village that they may not even know what that means, or the danger they are in.” He squeezed her hands in his. “I can _help_ them, Miju. And, when the time comes, I can bring them home. And _then_ we can take the village back from my unworthy brother and sister, and take back our son, and take up the guardianship of the cursed ones as was meant to be.”

She stared at him, for a long moment. “It’s impossible” she said at last, but there was doubt in her voice.

He shook his head. “No” he said, a smile beginning at the corner of his mouth. The ghosts were getting further away by the moment, as he was filled with a new sense of purpose. Chasing the darkness away, or at the very least pushing it back a little. “It’s _inevitable_. This is the path that I was born to walk… I see that now. Will you walk it beside me?”

She looked him in the eyes, clinging tightly to both his hands as though they were all she had to hold onto in the world. “Always.”

 

The snow had stopped by the fifth morning.

Geon woke to a sound, just as the grey light of a winter dawn was beginning to filter into the room, shivering in the early morning cold, some dark dream jolting him into wakefulness. In the way of dreams, it ran through his grasp like sand. Before he could remember what it was about it was fading, leaving him with a feeling of something lost, something unfinished.

He blinked upwards at the shadow-draped ceiling a few times, momentarily disorientated; this was a bed that was not his own, and for a moment he was cut adrift, with that sense of disquieting unfamiliarity that comes between dreams and full waking. The sound carried on, a high, insistent wail. He frowned, wanting it to go away, and rolled over, not quite conscious yet seeking the warm solidity of In-na’s sleeping form next to him, which he had grown so used to. When he felt nothing but crumpled blankets, the small jolt of fear was enough to push him into full wakefulness.

A moment later, memory came back, and he sat up hurriedly. He was lying on a hastily made-up bed on the floor of the main room of the house. The sound that had woken him was the crying of a baby, _the child they had all given so much to save…_

He was just getting out of bed when the door came flying open, a small green and brown blur of motion rushing up and clamping itself firmly around his leg. “Father! Make the baby shush!”

“Joona…” Geon couldn’t help but smile, gently extricating his daughter from where she had latched firmly onto his dragon’s leg, kneeling down so he was on her level and brushing her flyaway curls from her tear-stained face, which was crumpled up in a pout. “Hush, little bird” he told her, as she hiccuped with an angry sob. “Wait a moment. I’ll go see what So-min needs.”

Joona’s frown deepened, and she stamped a felt-slippered foot on the ground. “When’s So-min going away?”

“He’s not going away, Joona” said Geon, stroking back her hair once more. It had grown darker since she was a baby; now it was just a scant shade of willow-grey off In-na’s, though with a thick band of green running through it; that was from his side. “So-min’s part of our family now. He’s your new brother.”

“I don’t like him, Father. He’s loud and doesn’t do anything but you always do stuff for him now… and Mama can’t walk now too. I want him to go away!” she balled up her small fists. “I want everything back to normal!”

“Shhh…” he said, stroking her face, feeling a pang of sympathy, despite himself. “ _This_ is normal, now. And I know Mama’s not well right now…” He too regretted In-na’s injury with all his heart, and seeing her in pain, struggling to come to terms with the fact that she might never walk again, cut him deeply each day. If he could go back and do that night over again, then would he still have been willing to pay that price for the successful rescue?

Geon frowned. The answer was yes, he knew in his heart. He and In-na had both known the risks. And for himself at least, he didn’t regret it if she didn’t either. Especially after what he had seen, the child with the dragon’s leg in a cage instead of a crib, a life of chains and being treated like a monster before him. That image would be burned into his mind for the rest of his short life, he knew, reminding him of what they had fought against and won.

But Joona knew of none of that, and he meant to keep it that way. Let her grow up free of such dark things, now that So-min was safe. He looked back at her, scrubbing tears from her face. “…but you know what that means?”

Joona sniffed, shaking her head. “Nuh-uh…”

“It means…” he pulled her onto his lap on the bed, cradling her close so she snuggled into his embrace, “that you’re going to have to be a big girl. You’re going to have to help me look after So-min, and Mama, and - ” he broke off. Joona didn’t yet know that Jae-gyu, the aunt she never knew she had, was upstairs in the loft room of their own house, recovering from her wounds. And Geon meant not to tell Joona that yet either, at least not until they were sure that Jae-gyu would recover at all. He frowned, remembering the shock he had felt to see Jae-gyu at all, her eyes wide as she told him to _go_ , to fly away with So-min in his arms.

She had held Ki-nam off, given Geon the time he needed to get the child to safety. But at what cost, he had to wonder even then, though he knew she was strong, had always been the better fighter out of the two of them. He had always relied on his dragon leg too much, their mentor Joona had always told him so. Jae-gyu didn’t have that to fall back on, so to contend with Geon she had trained herself into an impressive fighter.

When Geon had seen that she was now on their own side once more, he had felt joy once more, and not just because it meant that maybe they could pull this off after all.

When he had gone back to find them though, had seen Jae-gyu drenched in blood and horribly pale, barely conscious from the effort of carrying In-na back through the woods, that joy had quickly turned to fear. It had only grown worse when she had carefully laid In-na down in front of Geon, then collapsed in his arms moments later. When they had brought her home and cleaned and stitched her wound – that fearsome gash from their brother’s sword across one shoulder blade and halfway down her back – and she had fallen into unconsciousness and not awoken for hours. She had been so listless when she had been awake at all, her heartbeat faint and erratic, and they had thought her all but gone.

The next day the wound had started to swell and grow hot, and they didn’t even need the herbalist’s advice and practiced eye to tell them that infection had set in. They had given Jae-gyu a draught to make her sleep easier, but still the fever had taken hold nonetheless, and she was left wandering in a shuddering, sweat-soaked fever-dream for many hours, In-na keeping herself distracted from her own pain by keeping watch from the chair by Jae-gyu’s bedside, as Geon took care of the children as best he could.

After four days of this, Jae-gyu’s fever had broken in the early hours of this morning. Only then had In-na finally left her bedside and let Geon carry her carefully back to their own bed, though he himself had left to sleep in this room, for fear of accidentally rolling over and jostling In-na’s broken bones, of hurting her even more.

She felt fragile as glass to him now; most everything did.

He pushed down the fear in him at these memories and forced a smile, stroking Joona’s hair again as she bunched her hands in the front of his shirt. “So-min is your… little brother, now” he said, determined that it should be so. “And as his big sister, you’ll need to look out for him. Do you think you can do that for me, little bird?”

Joona looked up into his face with large, teary eyes. “Mm” she said in a small voice. “But why can’t _you_ look after him, Father?”

Geon’s throat closed. “I might not… always be there” he said, forcing the words out. These days, he was more painfully aware of his own short lifespan than ever. “Not that I’m going to leave soon!” he added hastily, as Joona began to tear up again, her mouth a sad little _o_. “But… but there might come a day when… I can’t be there. Nor Mama, maybe. And then… then I’ll be trusting you to look after So-min.”

Joona looked sceptical. “But he’s noisy and a baby! He’s not fun.”

He smiled, sadly. “Yes, but he’s your family, sweet. And I know you’re going to love him. Because if all goes right, that’s what family should do.” He thought of his own siblings, then; So-min would be lucky indeed, he thought, if he could have a sister to grow up beside, as Geon had grown up with Jae-gyu, hardly realising how lost he was without her until she was gone. He could only hope that So-min would not be tormented by the same ghosts as Ki-nam was. And Geon, for his part, was determined to do better with his nephew than he had with his brother, for the gods knew that a child deserved none of that. Ki-nam had chosen cruelty, had chosen to cloak himself in cold and steel, and Geon couldn’t forgive him for the things he had done. But maybe, just maybe, if raised with care his son would be free to choose a different path.

Joona shrugged, wriggling a little in Geon’s lap. “Okay” she said, “I promise.” She grabbed him by the hand, smiling a little as she tugged him in the direction of the door. “Can I have breakfast now, Father?”

He smiled, giving her a gentle push in the direction of the kitchen. “Go wait by the pantry, I’ll see what So-min needs, then I’ll come and make you something to eat.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Joona, still grumbling a little, wandered out of the room. Geon allowed himself a moment to smile after her, then turned, running up the stairs two at a time, following the sound of the baby crying.

Sure enough, Geon entered the room to shrill screams. He reached down into the crib – amongst the many furs and blankets they had wrapped So-min in, against the cold – and picked him up. Small arms flailed in the air, and Geon barely managed to avoid a what would have been a nasty kick to the forearm from So-min’s dragon foot, despite the tiny fur-lined shoes he wore against the cold. Though he was only a few months old, So-min was already strong in his power, and a kick could easily break Geon’s wrist, he knew.

He cradled the baby in his arms, rocking him a little, making shushing noises as best he could. So-min was a fussier baby than Joona had been at that age, less prone to smile and giggle and more to cry, or simply to stare. Sometimes, Geon had thought, it seemed like So-min was staring at things that only he could see, in a way that was disturbingly reminscent of the boy’s father, and the ghosts that had haunted him as a child.

But no, Geon thought. There was no reason to suspect anything like that; So-min was still so young. Nevertheless, as he held him close, he couldn’t help but wonder what his future would hold. How he would be as a man, for surely Geon himself would not live to see it.

“Hush, hush now” murmured Geon. “What do you need, hmm? Are you hungry? Do you need changing? Agh… yes, yes you do. Alright, let’s do that, and then let’s go and meet your new sister Joona, hmm? She’s so nice, I know you’re going to love her…”

After he had changed So-min, he wrapped him in an extra blanket and carried him downstairs to the cellar, where In-na had stored the extra goats’ milk they had bought, when they had made their plans to rescue So-min from Ki-nam’s camp. That had been only a few days ago, but to Geon it felt like a lifetime, with how much had changed. He sighed, filling a ceramic bottle with a cloth-wrapped neck with milk, carefully beginning to feed So-min as he wandered into the kitchen, singing quietly under his breath. The melody was an old nonsense song that his own father had sung when he was little, he thought. His mind was in several different places, one part wondering about stockpiling new bandages for Jae-gyu and In-na, another on whether it was warm enough for the baby and what he could do about the cold draft he felt, yet another thinking about starting a fire to make Joona some rice porridge for breakfast.

When he got into the kitchen though, Joona wasn’t there. “Now where’s my little bird?” Geon said aloud, in case she was hiding somewhere in the kitchen; she did that sometimes, bursting out in fits of stifled giggles when he pretended that for the life of him he couldn’t see her. But there was no answer. He frowned. “Joona?” he said, voice rising a little. Still no answer. “Joona, are you here?”

 _Silence_. “Huh.” Joona had developed a habit of wandering off the moment she learned to walk, which, Geon had to admit, was probably a trait shared by every member of their family. She never went very far, but still, it always worried him a little.

Quickly, he carried So-min back up to the crib and laid him down, tucking him carefully into the blankets. Then he went to the bedroom that in more ordinary times he shared with In-na, knocking softly on the door.

On hearing a sleepy “come in!”, Geon did so, to find In-na lying in bed, looking tired but perhaps a little less pained than she had the night before. On seeing him though, she smiled her familiar warm smile, patting the covers of the bed beside her. Geon sat down cross-legged, putting a tentative arm around her. She winced a little and he hastily went still, dreading the thought that he had caused her pain, but after that initial moment she leaned into his embrace, her head on his shoulder, he loose grey-green curls unbound for once, cascading over his shoulder.

“I missed you” she said.

“I missed you too.” It was true. “Does it still hurt a lot?”

She snorted, a hard edge in her voice. “Well… yes, in a word. But I did shatter a fair number of bones into very small pieces, so I expect that’s all par for the course…”

“In-na.”

She sighed, her smile sad, worn with pain. “Yes. It does hurt. Not quite as much as yesterday, but I think I’ll be needing that medicine again today, and probably for quite a number of days after.”

“I’ll get some for you. Some food too. Bo-seon’s sister apparently also knows about what happened – so much for not telling too many people! – but I suppose we can’t complain she brought us riceballs and some preserved plums yesterday as a… well, I suppose a consolation gift?”

In-na laughed again, quietly, and a little bitterly. “A congratulations-on-your-rescue, sorry-about-your-leg gift.”

Geon laughed too, despite himself. “Yes, that, I suppose.” He sighed, relaxing into her touch as she raised her hand to brush his cheek. “I really did miss you” he said, feeling tears choke his throat, out of nowhere. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Well it’s not as though I’m going anywhere” her voice was for a moment sharp as broken glass again, and she frowned, lacing her fingers with his and gripping tight. “But yes… I missed you too” she sighed, turning his face around so he could lean forward and kiss her. After a moment though, she drew back, quizzical. “Now then. What are you looking for?”

Geon blinked. In-na always knew things like that, could tell when someone was searching for something. She had always been able to read him like an open book, and Jae-gyu too. “I’m looking for Joona” Geon said. “I was wondering if she came in here to see you.”

In-na shook her head. “No, not here” she said. “Oh no, did she wander off again? That girl takes after you more every day.”

Geon smiled ruefully. “Well, I think she has your stubbornness” he said, playing with a lock of In-na’s hair. “But no, you can’t ascribe her wanderings to me. There’s not a person in this family who isn’t prone to wandering off at a moments’ notice, and you fit that description too.” He frowned, as In-na turned away from him, face covered by a fall of hair. “What?”

She looked up at him, and she was frowning too. “Geon, they said I might never walk again” she said, a jagged edge in her voice. “What will I _do_ , if…?”

He felt a lump in his throat, something hard and painful. “You don’t know that. See how it heals, that’s what San said. You might be able to walk with a cane, remember?”

“Or I might not even regain that much.”

“That…that’s also a possibility.” He winced, his heart aching. “But if that’s how it goes,then you’ll still have me to carry you…”

In-na’s face twitched. “Well I suppose you’ll have to now.” She gritted her teeth, closing her fist so tightly her knuckles stood out pale. “It’s just… it’s just _gone_ , you know? It’s so… sudden. I used to talk about dying, about giving my life, but I didn’t understand. Because now I’m alive, but…” she shook her head.

“I… I understand” said Geon.

In-na glared, her usually gentle voice rising sharply. “No! No you don’t, Geon! I have… I fucking _had_ … things I wanted to do. I was going to teach Joona archery. I was going to travel with the two of you, to see the world outside the village, to show it to our daughter. I was going to raise So-min, to keep him safe. How can I do all those things, if all I am is a burden for you to carry?”  
Geon glared, the old wound torn open once more, temper bursting out despite himself. “And don’t you think I want those things too? You might lose the ability to walk, but…” he shook his head, watching her eyes widen as she realised what she had said, but unable to stop. “I’m going to _die_ , In-na. In a few years, I’ll be dead. And… and I can’t let it affect how I treat So-min, but _gods_ …” his own fist were clenched now, his eyes closed to stop the tears coming. “You being alive and well… you and Jae-gyu and Joona and So-min… you have to carry on. You _have_ to. And I know that you can, even though it may seem impossible now.”

“Geon…” she had leaned against him, arms going about him and her face hidden in his shoulder, voice thin and broken. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”  
“I know” he said, already feeling guilty for his outburst. “And I’m sorry too. It’s all gone so wrong, and I’m the one who -”

“No, don’t you dare blame yourself either. Listen to me” she insisted, in a whisper, her arms going tighter around him as her voice vibrated against his shoulder, so quiet he could barely hear, filled with despair. “After you’re gone…” she broke off, her face hidden from his, but from the sound of her voice she was on the edge of tears. “I just… I don’t know how to face it, Geon. Not like this. I _need_ you, I need you with me. I… I don’t think I can do this…”

“In-na…” Geon extended a gentle hand to hold hers, but she flinched away from his touch. He sighed, laying a hand on her shoulder, as she turned away from his again, her brow crumpling as she stared down at her clenched fists in the bed cover. “Will you look at me?”

He thought that she would not, but after a moment, she did, raising her head. Her face was hard as stone. He smiled, trying desperately to think of something to say that might make this better. “You did something very brave, you know” he said, his hand against her cheek. “You saved Jae-gyu. You saved her life. And you did that without my help.”

She looked back down at her hands again. “I did something reckless. And if you hadn’t found us… if Jae-gyu hadn’t carried me back, which nearly killed her – which still might! - then I would surely be dead, brave or not.”

He frowned, knowing this was likely true. But he looked back at her, trying to hold her gaze. “But you still did save Jae-gyu. She would have died right there in that camp if it wasn’t for you, but now she has a chance.” He held her hand between his own. “And… and _I_ am grateful for that at least, even if…” _Even if_ _the fever comes back and Jae-gyu_ _doesn’t_ _wake again_ , said his worst fears. He pushed them away resolutely, trying to find a way to put the words in the right order, to get across the relief he had felt to see them both alive. “And, even when I’m gone, you’ll have her. That was always the plan, wasn’t it? After I die, then it’ll be just you and Jae-gyu left, and you can look after each other, look after the children. That was what we always thought, before Jae-gyu left.”

She looked up at him, searching his face. “But… even if she does wake… what if she’s different, Geon? Those two years… what if she leaves again? We just got her back.”

Geon sighed. “If Jae-gyu chooses to leave, then we can’t keep her here. But I think… I want to believe that this time she will stay.”   
He thought of the moment in the tent, the thousand things that Jae-gyu had wanted to tell him, seeming to run past behind her eyes as she stared at him in that stretched out moment. The things he had wanted to tell her too, but mostly the overwhelming desire to hug his sister, regardless of what she had done, of how long she had been away. He had to believe that fundamentally, she was still the same person and she still loved him and In-na just as she had ever done.

But until Jae-gyu woke, he knew, he had no way of knowing whether this was true or not.

_If she woke at all._

“So do I” said In-na. “But Geon… I don’t want to lose you either. I… I know we saved So-min, and I know that saving that poor child from… the life he would have had is worth everything. I know that, but…” she gritted her teeth. “Geon, what if I can’t look at him? What if I…” she shook her head. “What if I look at him and only see the child who is draining the life from you? Or…” she dropped her voice. “What if he grows up like his father?”

He sighed deeply, squeezed In-na’s hand. “Let me ask you a question. Was it right?”

“What?”

“Was it right to save him? It was, wasn’t it?”

In-na blinked. “Well, of course! I told you, I was prepared do anything…”

“Then… I think that we must hold ourselves to that. I think that it is a risk that we were willing to take, and a risk that we must continue to take.”

She sighed, gave a watery laugh, edging just a little closer to him again. “You’re a braver person than I am, Geon, and a better one.”

“Nonsense” he said, taking both her hands in his, meeting her eye. “In-na, you may not know it, but you’re the bravest and best person I’ve ever met.”

She smiled, sadly. “I have to admit that I am braver with the people I love around me.”

“Well then, it’s just as well our little family has grown a little bigger again, isn’t it?”

She smiled more fully now, her face lighting up despite the weariness and pain that still lingered there. She was just about to reply when a moment later, there came a noise from upstairs that made them both start; a clattering of something heavy on wood and a yelp, high-pitched enough that Geon winced. “Joona!” he exclaimed, meeting In-na’s eye. “Oh, no, and she’s going up to the loft room by the sound of it…”

In-na’s eyes widened. “Have you told her yet about…”

Geon shook his head.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Geon wasted no time in running out of the door and up the stairs, following the sound of his daughter’s voice.

 

There was darkness for a long time before Jae-gyu woke, punctuated by light and pain and noise, fierce-burning heat and more pain; a sharp agony slicing across her back and her shoulder, consuming her so that she could fit nothing else in her mind, drowning out all else. She smelled sweat and blood and sickness, the very air pressing in too close, her skin prickling and oversensitive.

Sometimes she was more lucid, and the pain was less, and sometimes there was someone helping her to drink something sharp and herbal. Soft whispering in her ear and louder voices too, voices arguing over her head in words she was not present enough in herself to grasp at.

She did not know how long it was before she became aware that she had survived, how long before she was aware of anything at all; time meant nothing, in that fever-haze of pain.

But then, after some more time had passed, the pain began to fade, or at least to grow less fearsome, less all-consuming. Little by little, she was coming to herself again, her body no longer hot and feverish, but simply weary; the air filled with a deep stillness and a blessed coolness against the thick blankets that covered her.

And then, awareness came again. It was sound first, before vision. A voice, specifically, though not one she recognised; it was the voice of a child, though she couldn’t make out the words.

It was enough to make her think that somehow this was still another scrap of a dream, or perhaps what had gone before was; perhaps, she thought hazily, she would wake up and none of her adult life would have happened, and she would be a child again, lying tucked up in a blanket with her brothers on either side of her, wrapped up warm and dressed in fur-lined clothes against the chill of winter. Those were her very earliest memories; as though her mind was yet protecting her with blankness from her more recent past, she was aware of a sense of peace when she thought back that far. She wouldn’t have minded that, she thought. If only In-na could be there too, it would be perfect.

That thought brought her a little more clarity, and brought a note of alarm back to her.

What was that voice? Why was she hearing the voice of a child, and close enough that they might be standing beside her?

She tried, experimentally, to open her eyes a fraction. As she did so, she realised just how weak she was, for it was a momumental effort and made her head spin and throb, her eyes burning with unaccustomed light.

She kept her eyes open though, with determination and an urgency that she did not understand. As she did, her eyes adjusted a little and she saw that the source of the light was a crack left in a shuttered window, covered with translucent pale cloth to keep the wind out and soften the light coming in. In fact, it was not nearly as bright as she had thought but quite dim. And – yes - there was a face backlit by the bright window, a mass of whispy curls the pale shade of green-grey lichen, caught from behind in the winter glow. Jae-gyu blinked, as her eyes focussed on the features, which had a child’s proportions; a small nose and round cheeks, wide purple eyes filled with a quizzical expression.

A little girl, Jae-gyu realised, kneeling over her on the side of the bed and peering down into her face with extreme curiosity, and a little trepidition.

Jae-gyu blinked a few times, and the girl drew back a little, clearly wary.

“H-hello” Jae-gyu managed to say, the single word alone taking a toll on her. Her voice was scratchy with disuse and the dryness in her throat.

“Hello” said the little girl back. “Who are you? Why are you covered in bandages? Why are you here? Are you why Father said I’m not allowed in my room?”

Jae-gyu opened her mouth, but no sound came out this time; she did not even know how to answer any of these questions, apart from the first. “J…Jae-gyu” she said, licking her lips to try to get some moisture back, to be able to speak better. “My name’s Jae-gyu.”

The little girl nodded, but seemed unsatisfied, crumpling up her face, peering forward a little. As she did, the light caught the top of her head, and Jae-gyu realised there was a thick clump of her curls at the top of her head that were green as summer leaves. _The same green as Geon’s_ …

Even as she thought this the girl folded her arms, pouting. “Why d’you look just like Father?”

Jae-gyu’s eyes widened. But before she could speak, the door opened behind the little girl – just out of Jae-gyu’s line of sight, she realised as she tried to turn her head but couldn’t because of a thick swathe of bandages across her shoulder and covering her back, stretching up to her neck – and a tall figure walked through.

“Joona!” said a voice that was so familiar it brought unbidden tears to Jae-gyu’s eyes, “I asked you to wait in the kitchen for breakfast! You know you aren’t allowed in here for now!”

“But Fa-ther!” singsonged the little girl, indignant. “It’s _my_ room! And there’s this strange lady here! Who is she, Father? Why’s she here? When’s she going away?”

“She’s…” at that moment, Geon walked around to pick up the girl – _Joona_ , the very name making Jae-gyu’s heart ache with old grief and love – and tailed off, eyes going wide as they met Jae-gyu’s, staring up at him in confusion.

“J-Jae-gyu!” he stammered, immediately getting down on his knees beside her bed, lifting a squirming and mildly protesting Joona into his lap. “You’re awake!”

She did not know what to say. All she could do was stare at him, open-mouthed, with tears in  her eyes beginning to run down her face. She nodded, watching his dear, familiar face flash through many expressions, and felt a stab of apprehension before it settled on a smile, spreading wide across his face, his own eyes growing teary. He laid his free hand against her cheek, being exquisitely careful not to jar her bandaged shoulder. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”

“…Hurts” she said, smiling a little despite herself. “Everything hurts.” She tried to shift a little, and winced at the pain stabbing through her arm, even as Geon stilled her in alarm. “But…” she stared up at him, as memory came back. “Geon, what about In-na…?”

“She’s alive!” reassured Geon hastily, and Jae-gyu breathed a sigh of relief. “She’s… hurt, but she’s alive, and she will want to speak to you too, and… oh, Jae-gyu, we were so _worried_ … but you’re awake!” he put Joona carefully down on the floor on her feet, raised a hand to touch Jae-gyu’s forehead, brushing aside a lock of hair stuck there by dried sweat as he felt the temperature. “Your fever hasn’t come back… I think you’re going to be alright!”

“Yes” she said, her voice coming louder now, relief suddenly flooding up inside her from she knew now where. There would be a lot of conversations, she knew; the two of them had so much to talk through and settle, she was realising as memory flooded back.

But she was alive, and Geon and In-na had saved her, and that, she supposed, must mean something. It must mean they didn’t hate her, that they cared that she lived rather than died. Perhaps it was selfish to want that, she knew. But still, she clung on to it, as if to save herself from drowning. “Yes, I… I th-think… I think maybe I am.”


	21. By moonlight

In-na peered out between the low-hanging branches at the edge of the forest, tugging nervously at the pearl earring on its leather cord around her neck as she cast her eyes down to where she knew the village lay. Before her, the gentle, terraced slope rolled out from where the forest ended and the rice fields began. It was too dark to see it now, but somewhere down there was the village, her home. Somewhere down there were Jae-gyu, and So-min, and everyone else she knew and cared for.

And, if Miju could be believed, that was where Ki-nam had gone too. 

Still, there was a lot of distance between them and the village. A lot of people who would try to stop them too; she could see bright pinpricks of light on the higher terraces, spreading slowly downward. Lookouts, In-na knew, and they were hardly even bothering to be stealthy about it. That didn’t seem like it could be a good sign to her. She didn’t even know how many people Ki-nam had gathered to himself, but she was certain they outnumbered the population of the village, which was a black patch in the flickering web of torches spreading steadily down the terraced slope. She frowned at that; why was the village still dark? Jae-gyu and So-min had gone to prepare for an attack… there should be watchfires burning, or lights at windows at least, alarm bells ringing. But all was dark and silent. She felt a renewed flicker of nervousness, her mind filling in the worst possibilities.

She felt Ara squeeze her hand, and squeezed it back, wrapping the girl’s cold fingers in her own and blowing on them, to impart a little warmth. In-na smiled tiredly, tucking a lock of hair behind Ara’s ear. “You should try to sleep, sweet one” she said. “We’ve got some time, I can keep watch until Miju gets back…”

Ara looked doubtfully down the hill at the village. “We’re not going home yet?” She rubbed her wrists. “But we escaped! Let’s just run away…”

In-na sighed. Ara’s suggestion made sense; she felt the same restlessness herself. But Miju had said it wasn’t safe, before she had gone to scout the area. And even though In-na still didn’t fully trust her, she thought that if they did have a chance, then Miju was it. She had broken Ara’s chains, after all, and then led them both out into the night to slip like shadows into the woods surrounding the campsite. And it did seem as though Miju feared capture just as much as they did; the blood on her hands and face, the haunted darkness in her eyes. The nervous twitches to her movements that had never been there before, when she and In-na had been close as sisters.

In-na was just about to speak, when at that moment, Miju appeared again, materialising so suddenly from the darkness that both In-na and Ara flinched, clinging instinctively closer together.

Miju said nothing to either of them, but merely brought a finger to her mouth to indicate they should be quiet. Then she beckoned them, in the dim light filtering into the eves of the forest from the camp in the clearing.

“Where - ” In-na started, but Miju hushed her again, shaking her head and giving her a warning look, and after that In-na simply allowed herself to be led, her feet and her cane sinking just a little into the soft forest loam.

They skirted the clearing, until they were closer than In-na would have liked to the camp. This made it easier to see, but what she saw was far from heartening.

It was Ki-nam’s camp itself, and all of its inhabitants, she realised with dread, assembled in the clear area at its centre. She had not seen it before; in running from the wagon after Miju had rescued them, she had not had a moment to spare it a thought before they had slipped deep into the trees and down to the other side of the little encircling copse. But now she was better able to orient herself, and take in her surroundings.

And the camp, and everyone in it, stood in the direction that solace and her family lay, spread across the hill and spanning the road.

“We can go around” said In-na immediately, squinting into the gloom, trying to see how far the camp extended in either direction, but again, Miju shook her head, pointing to either side.

“I was there when Ki-nam set the patrols” she said, indicating the lights on the hillside. She looked up at the moon, her brow furrowing a little. “It’s too much of a risk to try to get to the village now.”

In-na folded her arms. “But we have to know what’s happening! Jae-gyu and So-min are down there!”

Miju looked thoughtful. “Both of those things are true” she said. “But perhaps we don’t have to strike out in the open to find out what we need to know.” She gestured to the camp, which was in the centre of a roughly oval-shaped clearing with the shrine and the dragon tree at the opposite end from where the three were standing.  All was encircled by the woods in whose eves they sheltered, which formed two gently curved, natural arms, which encircled the camp but formed a wide gap, through which they could again see the village in the distance. Miju was pointing at the closer arm of the woods, which was closest to the cleared space where the little tribe of Ki-nam’s followers held torches and stood around a hastily-dug fire pit.

In-na followed Miju’s pointing finger with her gaze. “You want to go to the closest approach to the camp?”

Miju nodded, raising her head so that the wind rustling the tree branches caught her hair. “It’s  close enough to hear what they’re saying, or at least to get a good idea of their plans.”

“It’s close enough to be caught!” snapped In-na, holding Ara defensively close. “Even if we hide in the trees, if we can hear them then its likely they’ll be able to hear us.”

“The wind is in our favour” said Miju. “We’re downwind of them, so they shouldn’t be able to hear us. And even if they do send someone to check the wagon I broke you out of, then they won’t expect us to be hiding so close. We’ve had time to get far away by now, if we’d gone off running in the opposite direction, to the woods.”

“We certainly have” muttered In-na darkly. She was half tempted to truly run off in the opposite direction. But only for a moment. She tugged at the necklace again, knowing she wouldn’t rest easy until she saw that Jae-gyu and So-min were safe.

“Alright, so we listen” said In-na, beginning to follow Miju. Ara was already walking ahead of the three of them, quiet as a cat. “What will we hear but more ranting about how the dragon warriors will destroy us all unless they are kept in check?”

Miju gritted her teeth, as In-na caught her up, seeing her face tense from the side for just a moment. “Maybe nothing. But maybe we will find out something that can help.”

They fell silent for a little while after this, In-na’s misgivings beginning to return as they drew closer. This felt wrong; this was what they had escaped from. She could see individual tents now, then individual faces in the crowd. Then she could hear voices; that same voice once more, raised in passionate fervour, retelling Ki-nam’s words; the rhetoric had changed little since she had heard it earlier tonight, and also back then in the village, that night that the three siblings had fought, twenty-six years ago. _The night of the exile_. But now there were so many more people than the little band of followers that had followed Ki-nam; she saw the full extent of them, when she hadn’t before. She couldn’t even tell quite how many there were in the gloom, but at least two hundred perhaps; certainly enough to outnumber the villagers by at least two to one.

She caught her breath as a new voice was raised; a young man’s voice, nervous, angry. “Lord Ki-nam said he’d be back by moonrise! The moon rose some time ago… does that mean something has gone wrong?”

“Or he’s betrayed us, and gone back to his family” shouted someone, which was followed by both dark mutterings of agreement and also angry yells.

“He would never!” called a woman’s voice, clear as a bell. “I believe in our Lord Ki-nam! I know he would never betray us so!”

“Wherever he is, I’m sure doing his duty to the gods, and to us his people! All he does is for the cause of casting out the traitors and bringing the dragons under proper guard, to contain the curse, to deliver us from the evil spirits that plague our people!”

In-na couldn’t help it; she levelled an accusing glare at Miju. “ _This_ is what you listened to every day, for nearly thirty years? Tell me, Miju, how much of it did you believe? And for how long?”

Miju looked uncomfortable, ringing her hands. “I… at the beginning, I believed.”

“You believed that your son was a monster, too?”

She looked In-na in the eye, challenging. “….There were times when… yes, I believed that.”

“But later?”

“Later…” she avoided In-na’s eye. “Later… I recognised that it was… necessary to give them a monster to fight against. Nothing unifies people quite like the demons in the dark.”

“Your own son.”

“Yes.” Again, that direct gaze, a challenge. “These people… you have no idea, In-na. Ki-nam was in it for his revenge, all along, but somewhere along the way, we came to the idea of gathering our people. Of saving them. Our people, those with the dragon’s blood, they shouldn’t be alone in the world. And _that_ was why I stayed; it was _worthwhile_ , In-na. I truly believed it was worth it. I didn’t ever expect us to actually return, for Ki-nam to really use them against the village.”

In-na raised an eyebrow. “So why gather them at all?”

She watched as Miju frowned, gazing back at the campsite. The lights of the reflected torches flickered in her eyes. “You… you don’t know what it’s like out there, In-na. Out there, people with our blood…” she looked up, between In-na and Ara. “They’re on their _own_. Outside the village, there’s nothing to bind them together. And…” her eyes darted to Ara, so quickly that In-na almost missed it. “And it’s _hard_ , that life. Take Dawon…” she gestured back to the campsite, where the woman was still speaking to the crowd, who seemed to be hanging on her every incendiary word. “As a child, she was sold to a travelling show. Her green hair was a curiosity, and she was exhibited in towns, made to dance on hot coals… the legend of Ryokuryuu has become distorted over the years, and they said she had invulnerable feet.  But of course, her feet were just so burned after all those years that she couldn’t feel it anymore.

“Or Yeong-ja. She just joined us recently, but…her situation was a bad one. She was on the run, had been tortured by the wind tribe’s army… they were hunting a green-haired woman for the crime of murder, and Yeong-ja was captured by mistake. She tried to run, but they caught her and cut off one of her hands, as an example. She got out in the end, when it became clear that she had been wrongly accused, but she couldn’t get back what she’d lost. “And then there was Jun-seo… he was born the son of a mercenary, but he had the other… gift, the other curse, that runs in our blood. He could hear the gods, and the ghosts of the past coming back to torment him nearly as bad as my husband had, as a child. When Ki-nam found him he was working for a travelling priest, who had no powers of her own but sold Jun-seo’s prophecies when he could pierce the storm in his head, and beat him cruelly when he couldn’t. When he met Ki-nam, well…” Miju shook her head. “My husband was angry at this cruelty, when he found out.”

In-na scoffed. “And he didn’t see the irony in that?”

“No, to him there truly was none” said Miju. “Ki-nam fought the false priest in single combat, and killed him. After that he took the boy in, was teaching him to master and understand the voices he heard. He gave Jun-seo – and all the others like him - something to believe in, finally. A sign that they were part of something, that their lives could be better. That there was a reason for all this, and a place for people like them.” She shook her head, looking down at the village. “And an enemy to fight, a monster at the center of it all, that must be hunted and made to hurt as much as the world had hurt them. And they believed in it.” Her face darkened. “Every single one of them that chose to join us did so because they believed, passionately and truly. They drank it in.” She swallowed nervously. “I did too, for a long time. But… even though I’m trying to change, now, they all still believe it, and they will fight to the death for that saving grace. And that’s what makes them so dangerous.”

There was silence for a long moment in the wake of her words.

“Look!” said Ara after a moment, interrupting the heavy hush. “There’s someone coming up the hill from the village now!”

In-na’s eyes widened, looking down the slope. Sure enough, a single figure – quite slight, wearing a dark, heavy-cowled cloak – was running laboriously up the hill, pausing for breath and stumbling, though there was urgency and dread in how they picked themselves up, pushed themselves on.

“Is that - ” whispered In-na, but Miju hushed her.

“It’s certainly not Ki-nam… I think it’s… a child?” Miju said, perplexed.

Now that the figure was closer and she could make out more than simply a moonlight-limned ghost, In-na saw that she was right. The figure was clearly a child, and they were running from the village to the camp, almost exactly past their hiding spot. Miju drew them back in alarm, shrinking back into the trees. “How did they get past the patrols?” she wondered aloud.

“I don’t kn- wait…” said In-na, as Ara gasped, looked up at her. She clasped Ara’s hand, both of them looking at the child on the hillside, then at each other. “Is that… little one, please tell me if my eyes are failing, but I think that’s - ”

“Jumong!” said Ara, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “In-na, why’s Jumong here? He should be back at the village in bed, or in your workshop!”

In-na frowned, squeezing Ara’s hand. She had seen the face of the boy as he ran towards the camp, and she knew her apprentice’s gait; he was a clumsy boy, but she had never held his tripping over his own feet against him, even if he had dropped a bushel of good quality feathers he was carrying, sending them scattering over all her workshop. “We should go and try to help him, before…” she said slowly, but then she looked at Miju, whose eyes were wide. “What?”

Miju blinked slowly, looking between In-na and Ara, and back to the boy running up the hill in the moonlight. “You can’t help him” she said. “You shouldn’t try.”

“But he’s running right into the camp!” said In-na. “They’ll hurt him! Or… or if you don’t care about that - ” she glared at Miju, “they’ll use him for ransom!”

Miju looked, to In-na’s surprise, quite heartbroken. “You can’t help him, In-na. Please, put him out of your mind.”

“I promised to look after him!” she said. “His parents left him, and I promised I would keep him safe!” he hadn’t only been her apprentice; she had had several of those, over the years, but of all of them, Jumong had been the only one without another home to go back to.

Miju sighed. “What do you know about Jumong’s parents, In-na?”

“…Not much” she admitted, caught a little off guard. “I didn’t know them well, but they farmed the rice fields, years ago.”

“A little odd for him to go into the fletching trade, don’t you think?”

“His parents left him, went travelling far from the village and never came back. He thought they died from a sickness or were killed by bandits on the road.” She remembered him telling her so one evening, in front of the hearth fire. “I didn’t want to pry further, as it obviously upset him to speak of them at all.”

Miju was silent, merely looking at her, as though trying to decide whether or not to speak. In-na raised an eyebrow, but since an explanation did not seem to be forthcoming, she folded her arms. “Well, at any rate we have to go to him” she said, as Ara beside her nodded. “No, not you, Ara dear. You stay here with Miju. But perhaps I can - ”

But Miju was shaking her head. “No. You can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“You’ll get killed!”

“In-na, listen to me.” Miju’s eyes were wide with fear and a kind of steely determination, her voice sharp and clipped. “You _can’t_ go out there. If you try, you will be caught and you will die. You weren’t even supposed to be brought here… the people that took you were only looking for the girl.”

“They wanted me as a captive” retorted In-na. “They’ve kept me alive so far.”

But Miju was shaking her head, her eyes wide, meeting In-na’s with an intense stare. “They won’t now that you’ve started causing trouble. There won’t be any second chances here… they will kill you, and I won’t be able to save you this time because if I try, they will kill me too.”

“But…” In-na stared out at the small figure of the boy, running desperately up the slope, towards danger. “But Jumong…! I have to do something!” She felt tears come to her eyes, felt Ara clutch her hand in distress. “I was supposed to look after him!”

“Oh, for gods’ sake” burst out Miju, in a fierce whisper. “If it’ll stop you from throwing yourself into danger I can’t afford to spare your feelings. That boy _betrayed_ you, In-na. He’s been working for Ki-nam all along. My… my husband and… and I… had his parents captive…” she wrung her hands, looking directly into In-na’s eyes. “I’m sorry. But he’s been telling us your every move through a messenger, for the last few months.”

“….No.” In-na was stunned. “That can’t be true…”

“I’m sorry, but - ”

“No!”

“Where do you think we were getting information about where to find you tonight?”

In-na’s head was spinning. “It can’t be…”

“Who gave you false information about an attack, to split you up from Jae-gyu and So-min?”

In-na stared, her mouth open as she thought back over the last few months, from the moment Jumong had appeared on her doorstep, all alone. _All this time_ …? She glared, fighting back tears once more, holding Ara close. “It doesn’t change anything” she said, realising it was true. “He’s a child, and he is still going into danger that he cannot understand. I do though. And he is still under my care, after all. So you see, I must help him if I can.”

“In-na…” Miju’s voice was cold and stiff, but she sounded weary too, In-na thought. “You can’t afford to keep thinking like you can help everyone. You’re going to have to get used to that, because it’s the price you pay for this freedom.” Miju glared. “For yourself _and_ for Ara. There are always certain sacrifices to be made.”

In-na glared back, frustrated. She had to keep calm, she knew, but she felt a flash of anger. “Is that what you did, all those years? Is that what you told yourself? That you had to make sacrifices, to keep yourself safe?”

Miju looked momentarily stricken, as though the words were a stinging slap, but she quickly composed herself, her face turning hard and impassive as stone once more. “I don’t want your forgiveness, you know. That’s not why I’m doing this.” She turned back to In-na. “I was wrong, for many, many years. And now I’m trying to do something _right_. Also - ” her voice was cutting, “ - I heard that the last time you put your life at risk to save someone, you nearly died, and permanently lost most of the use of your leg.” She narrowed her eyes, staring pointedly down at In-na’s cane. “Which is, first of all, not the best of records when it comes to pulling off daring rescues, and also not a condition that gives me much hope for your chances of success here.”

In-na gritted her teeth, curling her fingers tightly against the handle of her cane and resisting the urge to hit Miju in the shin.

Because, frustrating as it was, Miju was right, she knew. Even twenty-four years ago and with her full strength and mobility, she could have easily died in falling from that tree. Her getting killed would serve no one, especially not Jumong, or his family. “Still” she said, staring back at the boy running up the hill. “I have to at least try - ”

Her words were interrupted by the cry of a sentry, making Miju flinch violently. But the man was not looking in there direction, but instead pointing down the hill, towards Jumong. “Intruder!”

Instantly, Miju was grasping both In-na and Ara by the forearms, as at least a dozen people ran down the hill, surrounding Jumong and pointing spears and torches at him. “Hush!” said Miju,under her breath. “There’s no reason for them to hurt him…”

Sure enough, as Jumong raised his hands as a gesture of peace, the people wielding weapons drew back, and he was marched back to the camp.

“What news, child?” they heard a woman’s voice say. “Have you any word of Lord Ki-nam? Any message?”

“No message” said Jumong. Now that he was closer, In-na could see – even from their safe distance – that he was trembling, his eyes nervously darting around the crowd that encircled him. “B-but…” he seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“What? Tell us, boy!”

Again, Jumong craned over the crowd. In-na wondered whether he was searching for some sign of his parents. She hastily stifled a cry though, as a moment later a hand shot out and grabbed the boy by the throat. In-na quickly pulled Ara to her chest so that she was facing away, in case something worse should happen. Even as she did so though, Jumong raised his hands again.

“He’s fighting them!” Jumong blurted. “K…Ki-nam. Or he’s going to, I don’t know. He and Jae-gyu and So-min are all standing on the bridge to the village… they didn’t notice me as I ran out here, but they…” his words were all tumbling over each other in his haste and distress. “They had their weapons out and they looked like they were going to fight so… so I came here…” he was weeping now, and In-na’s heart tore with sympathy, longing to go to him, even though Miju’s hand – and the fact that she knew in her heart that running into this situation would only make things worse – held her back.

A rough hand drew Jumong up to his feet. “Are you certain of this, boy? I don’t need to remind you of your parents and their… _situation_ , do I?”

“N-no!” sobbed Jumong. “I’m telling you the truth! It’s all true I promise, just… p-please don’t hurt them…”

The man holding Jumong dropped him back on the ground. “Elders of our people. With our Lord gone and his wife a traitor, it is down to us to decide what we must do. Do we go to Lord Ki-nam’s aid? Or do we leave him to fight, trusting the gods to protect him?”

“If he hasn’t betrayed us. This could all be an act” said someone, at the back of the crowd, but they were quickly silenced and booed.

“He would never betray us, or abandon us!” called a woman.

As they were arguing, In-na looked over at Miju, doubtful. “Should we…”

But before she could ask her question, Miju was grasping her upper arm tightly, eyes round as the moon, pointing out at the clearing in shock, as a scream echoed in the night air.

“What?” whispered In-na, as Ara gasped.

“Jun-seo!” breathed Miju. “A prophecy!”

Sure enough, the man that Miju had pointed out earlier – rather slight, soft brown hair with green flashes held back by a blue ribbon – was falling to his knees at the front of the crowd, as those around him exclaimed, or tried to help him to stand again. But none of them were able to; the man was on his knees, palms planted against the ground as his whole body shook violently. As they watched, he threw his head back to the sky, eyes wide and face drained of blood as he cried out in a great voice to the stars and moon above.

“Seer of dragons, plagued by ghosts, Ki-nam will not see another sunrise. He will die under the light of the same moon that shines down on the earth now, though the ending of his life will cost another’s, a bargain made willingly. His legacy will survive for a hundred years before the chain is broken.”

After that proclamation, the man slumped forward, and silence fell for an instant, before uproar errupted. There were screams, sobbing, shouts of denial and grief.

And then, one more shout, that made all the others go quiet.

“We must go and save him! We must attack the traitors in the village, and save our Lord’s life!”

“Fool!” shouted another man. “We cannot change the course set by the gods!”

“We can avange him, though!” This was Dawon again; her voice rose overall, and she held up a torch as she spoke. “If the traitors and usurpers that now hold the village take him from the world, then we can still burn it to ashes!” There was silence, then a murmur running through the hushed crowd. “My people, who share my blood! Lord Ki-nam brought us together to eventually bring us home, and to oust the traitors that exiled him, did he not? This village is our birthright too. And if they are to spill his blood on this ground, then we can take it back for ourselves with fire! We can burn down their unworthy village, and kill all those that would kill him… they are not worth saving!”

A silence followed her words. Then, a cheer began to arise, and a stamping of feet, rising so that In-na could feel it in the ground as much as hear it in the night air. People raised their torches and drew weapons, spears and bows and swords. A pike was thrust into Jumong’s hand, an older boy grasping his arm and dragging him into the midst of them. Then, with a great cry, they began to walk, then run, down the hillside towards the village, as the three of them stood watching in dumbstruck horror.

It was In-na who recovered first. “We have to follow them.”

“We’ll never make it in time!” said Miju immediately. In-na rounded on her, but even as she did so she realised that Miju was right.

“We have to try!” she said, gritting her teeth as she stared down the hill towards the mass of people running down the slope, bearing torches. “We have to follow, at least!”

“We can’t - ”

But even as Miju spoke, she was interrupted by a gasping cry from Ara, who had grasped at In-na’s arm, hard enough to bruise. “Darling! What is it?”

“S…So-min!” exclaimed Ara, her other hand balled up into a fist, her eyes wide with fear that tugged at In-na’s heart. “Something’s… something’s happening to him! I can feel it… In-na, I have to go to him…”

In-na’s heartbeat was fast with nervous fear. “You… you can’t go down there!” she said, wishing once more that she could get some sort of help, any sort, to So-min. But she couldn’t allow this. “It’s too dangerous. Especially now.”

“Please!” Ara begged, tugging on In-na’s hand, which clasped hers. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, In-na saw, her small face twisted up with fear and desperation. “Please, I think… I know…” she glanced over her shoulder, back down at the village. “S-something’s happening… to So-min…”

“To So-min?” In-na caught Miju’s glance; her face was pale, frozen at the mention of her son’s name.

“Mm-hm!” Ara nodded, quickly, wiping tears off her face with her sleeve. “I… I can’t feel his light in my head so much, anymore! It was…” she was truly crying now. “It was always there, and now it’s… it’s fading… it’s disappearing…” she darted a glance back over her shoulder to the stream of torches making their way down to the village. “I’m worried about So-min! He needs me!”

In-na’s heart twisted; nevertheless, she knew, she had to keep thinking clearly. The thing was, Ara was _right_. She knew all too well what the fading of that light meant; she remembered the day Geon had died, when So-min and Joona had run home, sobbing, into her arms. She had known, of course, that So-min had not long left in this world, though she had not yet let herself face it, stare in the face the certainty that she would outlive the boy she had raised as her son - especially after the final confirmation that Joona was dead too. But she knew what it meant. She had known it was coming; though not so soon, _please, not now_ …

She also knew that Ki-nam’s people were approaching the village, with weapons and torches in hand. And Jae-gyu was there, too; In-na could picture it all too clearly. It would come to fighting, and Jae-gyu would die there, fighting desperately outnumbered, fighting to make right the wrong that she stubbornly refused to accept she had made up for many years ago, many times over.

Again, Ara tugged on her hand, pulling her out of her dark imaginings. “Please, I have to go to So-min…”

In-na blinked away tears, trying to pull herself together. “Ara, I can’t let you do that…”

“They’re in trouble! Everyone in the village is in trouble, and…” she glanced over her shoulder. “I’m the only one who can get there in time to help.”

This was what In-na had been afraid of, in the end. Because Ara really was right; she had hardly let herself acknowledge the possibility all this time, but alone, Ara could easily make it back to the village. It would take only a few strong jumps, and she would be there, passing over the attackers safely.

But if there really was to be a battle, then could In-na really justify sending a child off to fight it alone?

“No” she said shortly, trying to push down the indecision that was even now eating at her.

“I can’t let you go” said In-na, shaking her head, tears in her eyes now. “You’re just a child.” _Her granddaughter_. That came very clear to her all at once, as she looked into the little girl’s eyes and saw the same obstinate defiance, the same spark as her own daughter had had. It was too late for Joona now, but it was not too late for her daughter.

“So-min’s there” sobbed Ara. “I have to find him, have to help him…”

“So-min can… he can look after himself” she said, much as it pained her. “You’re just a little girl, Ara.”

“I have the power of Ryokuryuu!” she said, with wide eyes that shone with tears.  

In-na shook her head. “Not enough of it.”

“But I do! It’s getting stronger, more and more now” Ara choked back another sob, biting her lip. “I…. I think I’ll have all of it, soon!”

The words hit her like a blow to the chest. “Darling….”

“So-min… something’s happening to him…” she said, fulling sobbing now. “I’m the only one who can save him!”

In-na caught her breath. She knew she should tell the girl that So-min would not be long for this world anyway. She knew she should trust that Jae-gyu was their only hope now. She knew she should tell Ara something that would help her begin to let So-min go.

She knew she should say all these things and more. But no words came.

“In-na! Please let me try!”

“I think you should let her go, In-na.”

In-na started; she had almost forgotten Miju was there. But there she was, standing still as though carved from stone, and just as brittle.

“She is Ryokuryuu” said Miju, quietly. It sounded as though she was having trouble getting the words out, struggling hard to keep her voice even. “I believe… I believe now that this power can do good. I believe that she will be the one to redress the wrongs my husband has done to this people. And that… that it can save my son, even if only for a little while.” She gently extended a hand, and In-na almost tried to stop her, before she tentatively laid it on Ara’s shoulder. “If the gods are on any side, they are surely on yours, child.” Her face twisted. “For I know now… I know they were never on _his_.”

Ara nodded. “Th-thank you.” She looked up expectantly at In-na. “So? Can I…?”

In-na was silent for a long time, tears rolling down her face. Then she nodded. “I suppose…. I suppose you must. But _please_ , Ara, for me, and for So-min, and for all of us…. be careful.”

Ara nodded, with determination. “I’ll save So-min! I’ll save Jae-gyu… I’ll save all of them!”

In-na smiled, feeling a renewed sting of tears in her eyes at the fierce determination in Ara’s face. She wished she could go with her, protect her - and once again she cursed her bad leg - but she knew she would only slow her down. On her own, the girl had a chance. “I’m sure you will. But listen… you have to be careful, alright? Don’t stop for anything. You need to get to the village as fast as you can… and if you can’t do anything, if it seems like… all is lost… you need to _run_. Run far away, and don’t look back. If you can’t run, then hide. Do you understand?”

Ara’s face creased in a frown. “But wait… what about you?”

She took a breath. “If it comes to it, then don’t come back for me.” Her face softened, and she reached up and brushed the hair from Ara’s face, kissed her forehead. “Get somewhere safe, and we’ll see each other again” she said. “I promise.” _Even if it’s in the heavens_ , she added silently.

Ara nodded, slowly. “Then I promise, too.”

“The power of the gods protect you, child” she said, as Ara flung herself into her arms one last time, before turning and giving Miju a brief, shy hug too, which made Miju’s face go stiff with shock. But she didn’t have time to speak, as Ara straightened up, for a moment looking up into the sky as if searching for something.

As she stood there, the night breeze caught her hair, and she suddenly looked much older than her years; In-na was reminded of several hours before when Ara had stood up in the wagon, offering her manacled wrists before Miju’s chisel with a look of hard determination in her eyes. How she had sat, unflinching, as Miju had stricken off her chains, making bright sparks in their cramped, darkened prison. It was times like that that In-na thought she could glimpse the woman that Ara would grow up into, worn with care beyond her years but also stronger and braver than In-na would ever have thought possible. She had watched the shackles fall to the floor, and in that moment she had thought that, somehow, that was the moment that would define this child’s life. For better or for worse, that was the moment that would shape her into the person that she would become.

_Chainbreaker_ , In-na had thought all at once, the words of the old prophecy running through her mind even as she watched. _Is that what it meant?_

“Go” said In-na, wincing even as she heard the cries of the people, the clash of weapons, drifting up the hill on the night breeze as they made their way down the hillside.

With one last smile of determination, Ara ran forward and launched herself into the black sky and out of sight.

* * *

 

Some time later, the moon had moved across the sky; In-na and Miju had been making their way in the direction of the village on foot for a short while. They had not made much progress, picking their slow, cautious way around the edge of the forest, beginning to strike downwards to the rice terraces. Some of sentries were gone, left to join the people who had run down to the village; that was something at least Miju thought, but a few still remained, gathered around braziers that had been placed along the road. And with only the light of the braziers and the moon, it was still slow going with the water up to their knees in places, In-na’s cane and Miju’s desire for caution making it even slower.

Yet it meant they had time to talk, albeit quietly, in the silence that surrounded them.

“Now that it’s just the two of us” In-na said quietly, her words dropping into the hush, “I need to ask you something, Miju. And I need you to tell me the truth, please.”

Miju’s throat closed; In-na’s voice was soft, but filled with a solemn detemination, undercut with steel. She nodded, silently; no words were needed.

In-na took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Did you… have any part in my daughter’s death?”

There was silence for a long moment, a heavy, deep silence in which even Miju’s own breaths sounded too loud, her heart twisting painfully as she considered how to answer.

“Yes” she said at last, equally quietly. “Yes, I did.” After a long moment of silence, she looked cautiously over at In-na. “I did not strike the final blow, but… yes, I had a part.” _And my silence was my worst crime of all, for so many years and for so many other evils_ , she did not say.

In-na had dropped her gaze, was staring down so that her eyes were in shadow. Miju could see the corner of her mouth though, a slight tremble and the tension there, preparation for a terrible blow that had not yet fallen.

Miju gritted her teeth, forcing herself on. “Listen, In-na. I know that that’s not something that can be forgiven. I accept that. I’m… I’m not looking for forgiveness, from you, or from… anyone. But… you don’t have to believe me when I say… and… oh, gods, I know how I must sound, but…” she took a long, steadying breath. “You have to believe I am telling the truth when I say that that was the day that things began to change. For me, I mean.”

As she said that, In-na looked up at her. To Miju’s surprise, there was no hatred in her eyes; just endless sorrow, loss and pain. But there was also simple weariness, exhaustion at a world in which family killed family, the fighting carrying on through the generations. Miju thought she could sympathise.

But then In-na said something that she did not expect. “I believe you.” She cleared her throat. “I… I don’t forgive you. But… I can believe that if anyone could change you, it was Joona. My little girl.” Miju winced a little at that, and at the catch in In-na’s voice, but In-na carried on. “And… I’m not going to ask you to tell me what happened. I’m… well, it’s not a tale for the dark. But… I’m glad you told me the truth.” She stared up at Miju now, her eyes dark in the dim forest night, reflecting the torchlight from the campsite. “I truly believe that that is a step along a better path, if only the very first step of a journey that may have no end.”

Miju nodded, not trusting herself to speak. For a long, long while the two of them stood in silence sheltered by one of the terraces, their feet sinking into the waterlogged ground, staring down the hillside. They could still see distant pinpricks of fire, a stream of people coming around to encircle the village, from all sides. Miju swallowed nervously; surely, she had done all she could now. She had freed Ara; that must count for something at least. There was nothing else she could do. She knew that, logically, but as she watched In-na from under her lashes – still standing as still and unblinking as carven stone, though even with only a glance Miju could see her fingers gripping tightly around the handle of her cane – she couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t enough. _Of course it wasn’t_ , she reminded herself. There was no way that she could ever fully redress what she had done to the woman who had once been her friend, even if she had a thousand lifetimes to do it in.

But it was something, and something was better than nothing.

That realisation emboldened her; and at last, in that fragile silence, she opened her mouth to ask a question that had been caught in the back of her throat for some time now. Ever since she had seen So-min in the camp, in fact. Or perhaps long before that. Perhaps it had been there ever since she had willingly handed her child to his father, to be placed in a crib with bars, manacles placed around his tiny ankles and wrists with a decisive click as Ki-nam made a sign to ward evil spirits over the child’s head.

“In-na” said Miju. “Can I ask a question too?”

In-na nodded, slowly.

“What… what was… what is he like? Growing up, I mean, and… and now. Please, tell me about my… my son?”

In-na turned to look at her; she seemed to understand, even though Miju’s question had been oblique at best. “So-min…” she said, lingering over the name as she stared down. A small smile was on her face, tempered with sadness. “There was this one day, it must have been… oh, twenty years ago? It was before Geon died.” Her face twisted, her smile turning even more pained, bittersweet. “So-min wasn’t in his room in the morning; that wasn’t so uncommon, he often sleepwalked, especially when he was very young…” a cloud crossed her face. “But he never went far. But this one morning, he was just… _gone_. Joona was upset, so I comforted her, fed her her breakfast as Geon and Jae-gyu went out to search.

“In the end, it was Geon that found him. Of course it was; So-min was on the roof of the house, you see. In the night, he had heard a young bird caught in the rafters, a swallow. He had gone up there to help her get free. She was hurt, had broken her wing, poor thing. So-min though… he wanted to keep her. We were so _sure_ she would die…” In-na shook her head, eyes far away. “But… she lived. So-min was so meticulous, even though he never said much. He named her – Hana, yes that was it – and he nursed her back to health.”

Miju realised there were tears in her eyes. “What happened?”

In-na looked at her for a long moment. “Hana flew away, one day” said In-na. “So-min, though… I thought he’d be upset, but he didn’t mind, he told me. He said…” she frowned a little. “He said that even though he loved her, the sky was were she was supposed to be.

“That’s how it always was, you see. He was always… _kind_. He was quiet, serious, but he was so _gentle_. Joona saw it too; he was her little brother, and even as his power grew stronger, she… she always looked out for him.” There were tears in In-na’s eyes too now, and her voice trembled, but she pushed determinedly on. “There were times when the nightmares would come for him, the ghosts of the village’s past, and we thought…” she shook her head. “Miju, I trust that now, at least, you can understand what we feared when we learned that So-min could see the ghosts too. Not as strongly as his father, but…” she shook her head. “It was something that none of us could ever save him from, if they ever tormented him so…” 

In-na stopped, frowned at Miju’s expression. “Oh…” she said. “Oh. You… you didn’t know, then? You didn’t know So-min inherited that, at least, from Ki-nam?”

Miju’s eyes were wide, her words sticking in her throat. She shook her head, slowly. “I mean…” she said, “I mean, I suppose I should have suspected…” she tailed off. The truth was, it simply hadn’t occurred to her. The dragon warriors were the monsters, Ki-nam had always said, and their ghosts tormented the people of the village, haunting its streets and screaming in his head. She hadn’t known that they too could feel that dark presence. 

Her heart ached anew. “Did he…” she whispered. “Did they hurt him, as they hurt Ki-nam?”

In-na’s gaze softened. “He could never sense them quite that strongly, nor could he hear the voices of the heavens – no dragon warrior has ever had to also bear that weight, thank the gods. But even the ghosts were less of a burden to So-min. Ki-nam’s mind was wide open to them as a child, but So-min was able to learn to block them out. It was always easier for him with Joona there beside him.” In-na looked up at her, eyes unreadable again. “But I think… I think it was also in his blood. Ki-nam only gave him half of that, you know. The other half… well, the other half was… you. And… that was probably what saved him from the worst of it.”

Miju opened her mouth, closed it again. In that moment, she had no idea what to say.

In the end, she didn’t have to say anything, for at that moment, a sound tore through the silence of their little hollow at the base of the terrace, making In-na’s eyes dart up, as Miju turned around, staring down the hill.

Her eyes widened, and she let out a little cry of horror at what she saw. 

Flames, licking high into the air, from the darkness below. Moments later, lights started to flare into view around it, lamps lit as people awoke; there were screams in the air now, carrying through the still air all the way to the edge of the terrace where In-na and Miju still hid. 

“No!” Miju gasped, as In-na stared up and down the hill, desperate. There must be something they could do… Miju knew that In-na probably could not fight anymore, not since her injury. Miju probably could, _but what could she do against so many…?_ T _here must be something_ … she watched as In-na clutched the pearl earring on its cord with a fierce grip, trying to think. 

Miju looked at the flames. At the braziers where the sentries patrolled the road, up the hill towards the abandoned camp – only a few people remained there, mostly elderly people and very young children. But all those who could fight had gone down the village. 

Resolutely, she blinked away the bright imprints of flames in her eyes, trying to think logically, to not fall to fear when her family – though they may never forgive her - needed her the most. She looked beyond the camp, to the shrine, and the dragon tree, with its little dragon figurines of wood or leather. She was too far away now to make out the tree itself, but she knew the sight well enough, could imagine them there, dancing in the wind. Each one placed there when a Ryokuryuu died and their successor took their place, and it was said to be where the spirits of the dragons lingered, the unquiet ones of generations past that had lived lives of pain and want. 

Ki-nam had always hated that place as a child; she wondered, suddenly, if So-min had felt the same, haunted by past centuries of lingering ghosts.

“Miju.”

The sound of In-na’s voice brought her back to the present. In-na wasn’t looking at her though but was following her gaze, staring up at the dragon tree. She looked back at Miju then, her eyes wide, gripping Miju’s forearm. “I know what we have to do.” 

Miju frowned, staring at In-na’s hand on her arm, taken by surprise. “In-na…”

“Can you help me get safely back to the shrine? And… and can we get hold of one of those torches, on the way?”

“Why?”

In-na gritted her teeth, trying to will away the nervousness that was rising up within her. “I have a plan. I just hope it’ll work.”

 


	22. Catching light

In-na pulled them back so that they were in the shadow of the steep slope of a terrace, rising backwards behind them. Dotted here and there were the brazier lights from the few sentry posts that Ki-nam’s tribe of wanderers had left behind to guard the way, on their charge into the village.

In-na turned back to Miju, drawing her surreptitiously out of the moonlight and into the dark.

Despite the blackness, she could just make out Miju raising a questioning eyebrow. “What are you planning?”

“….Look” said In-na, making a motion to be quiet and pointing back up the gentle terraced slope of the hillside, towards the camp. “Do you see where the shrine is?”

“Yes” said Miju, a frown beginning between her eyes. “It’s right on the edge of the clearing, by the camp. But…”

“And you see that the camp is almost empty now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And would you say that the only people left in the camp - the only ones left between us and the shrine - would have other concerns? That they might be distracted, even?”

Miju nodded, cautiously. “I should say so… but…In-na why the shrine? I… I’m sorry, but I don’t think praying will help us now. Beside, it’s…” she hesitated for a moment, a little doubtful, “Ki-nam always said it was a bad place, full of old ghosts.”

In-na gritted her teeth in determination, feeling suffused with new purpose. Her idea was risky at best, and at worst…well, she very much didn’t want to think about that. _B_ _ut if they managed to pull it off_ … “Exactly” she said, smiling a little.

But Miju was shaking her head. “I still don’t understand what you’re getting at. But listen, In-na, even if we did try to go there….” she gestured up the hill. “There are guards. The terraces are bad terrain. We’d have to get onto the road, and then they’d see us. They’ve got fire…”

“Which is good, because fire is what we need” said In-na.

Miju blinked, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What?”

“Fire” said In-na. “….we need some, and they have it. Unless you have something to light a fire with as well as that crowbar…”

Miju shook her head, rather resignedly.

“…..then I suppose we’ll need to steal it” said In-na, briskly. “The rice fields are too wet to find anything to light anyway, I expect. Now…” her mind was racing, and she tapped her cane against the damp wooden plank on which they were both standing as she thought. “It’s going to be dangerous, I won’t lie, but together I think we can take out one of those guards, especially if they’re not expecting us. They will have instructions not to leave their posts - otherwise they would have followed the others - so hopefully that should work to our favour, especially if we don’t give them a chance to run for reinforcements. Then we can get the torch up the hill to the shrine and-”

“And _what_?” snapped Miju, waving her crowbar a little for emphasis. She looked disturbed. “You’re not planning on burning down the whole camp are you? Because besides a few guards it’s only children and the the old and sick left behind if I know them, and even they….”

But she tailed off, as In-na shook her head. “No” she said. “I don’t plan on killing anyone tonight, Miju. But if all goes to plan we won’t need to. After all, it was never the living that gave Ki-nam pause, was it?”

Even in the near darkness, she could see Miju’s eyes widen. “The shrine….”

She whispered, clearly distressed now. “It’s full of the ghosts of this village. All those centuries of blood and despair… they tormented Ki-nam as a child…”

“And if I’m right, they still should.” In-na frowned at Miju’s clear distress, laying a hand on her wrist, with a gentleness that surprised even herself. She should hate Miju, she knew. She should hate her beyond all forgiveness for her part in Joona’s death, and all the other cruelties that must surely lie in her past. Yet somehow - and it hurt her even to think it - all she felt was pity. Miju had suffered enough, and maybe - just maybe - she was the only chance In-na had left to save her family.

Miju flinched at her touch, but not quite as much as she had earlier that same night. “Miju, if I’m right, this will work. If we hurt him - send him mad with the guilt and the ghosts - then we’ll break his power. Kill him, and his followers will seek revenge and level everything, but maybe, just maybe…”

“In-na.”

“What?”

“…What about So-min?”

In-na raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“Won’t it… won’t it affect him too?

This made In-na pause. ”…..Yes, perhaps" she was forced to admit, the thought tearing at her heart with guilt. She remembered when So-min had been a young child, and she had watched for any sign, the slightest thing that might be causing him distress. They had all kept such a close eye on him, dreading every moment that he would feel the ghostly burden that had haunted Ki-nam.

“So-min…I have to believe he won’t be harmed by it,” said In-na unsteadily, hoping that it was true. Certainly, So-min had had an easier time than his father, but still, there had been moments when seeing him scream in the grip of a desperate nightmare had hurt her worst than any arrow wound or shattered leg ever had. She sighed, her heart heavy. “But… but even if he is. He’s dying, Miju…” she felt the tears close once more, the press of urgency. “And I know that he would want us to do what we could to save the village.” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “Even if it means his last moments are haunted by the ghosts of its cursed past.”

Miju nodded silently, as though she didn’t trust herself to speak. “All right” she said quietly, then a little louder, nodding. “All right. Yes, I suppose we may as well try. You lead, and I’ll follow.”

* * *

 

With effort, So-min scrambled up to the highwalk that ran around the village, a level above the main boardwalk. He had drawn his bow, hoping that at the very least he would be able to use it despite the weakness that was beginning to fill his whole body, creeping upwards from his right leg; it had already grown numb at the toes, and it was getting worse by the minute.

He paused for a moment to lean against a wooden pillar, breathing hard and painfully. Climbing was so much _effort_ without the use of his power; everything was. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and collecting himself for a moment, forcing back the waves of dizzying weakness, before taking a look at the sight below.

What he saw made despair well up within him anew. He could see the gatehouse, the gate flung open and people pouring through, shouting about Ki-nam, and about dragons and traitors, and blood and moonlight, and other things he could barely make out.

Not that he needed to; their intentions were as clear as the drawn swords and spears raised to catch the moonlight on bright steel points. Lanterns were flaring into life in many windows now, the people awakened by the noise outside, and a couple of people were staring or even shouting down from windows. He caught the word _Ryokuryuu_ flung back and forth a couple of times, before the words were drowned by renewed cries of anger from the crowd gathering outside.

So-min gritted his teeth. He should be down there, he knew. It was him they were after. It was him that was the center of this village, rightly; in older days, he knew, he would have been the head of it and it would have been his own duty to care for all of the people of their blood. He had always pushed that thought aside before – he had never thought he would be much good at it anyway – but now that knowledge was painfully close, and very real.

He gripped his bow harder, curling his fingers around it; he just stopped himself from a reflexive jump down to the lower level, feeling a sense of nausea as he realised that a motion once as natural as breathing could now easily kill him.

So-min was just thinking this, when another flurry of motion caught his eye, and he turned his head to look. From where he was standing, he could see Elder Bo-seon’s house, and as he watched, the door flew open, setting the stack of clay pots and baskets beside the door to rattling. Immediately Bo-seon emerged, holding a lantern in one hand and a sword in the other, his white-rimed brows drawn together in anger. Behind him peered his daughter, holding back two grandchildren anxiously.

After that, everything happened very fast. So fast that, So-min would tell himself, there was nothing that he could have done to stop it, even if he had had his power and had been able to make it across the intervening space in time. That was what he told himself; he knew it to be true, yet in this moment he felt as powerless as though the gap between was miles wide, trapped and frozen by shock.

He heard Bo-seon’s voice, cutting through the clamour as others emerged from their homes, gripping makeshift as well as very real and sharpened weapons warily.

“ _Get out of my village_ ” boomed Bo-seon. “The priest you follow is an exile for a reason… years ago, he ignited violence here, here on this ground where we had promised to be better than our history, to guard the dragon warriors - ” he raised his voice over the booing “ - and to protect them, and to live in peace. Ki-nam and his rabble rousing was not consistent with that, and that has not changed. He is not here! Get out if you want to find him, and never come back with swords drawn on me or my people, unless you want to - ”

Those were the last words that he spoke. For a moment later, Dawon stepped forward, her sword a bright arc of metal catching the glow of the lantern as she slashed across the village elder’s chest, his granddaughter’s scream cutting through the night air. A moment later, a fountain of blood erupted where the blade had caught his neck, and the lantern crashed to the ground and rolled around the corner of the house.

But not before Bo-seon’s eyes had widened, seeing far in his last moment of awareness; far enough that his gaze met So-min’s across the open space that divided them, seeing him standing there on the walkway frozen in horror, gripping the handrail with white knuckled hands as if were all he had left to hold on to.

There was time enough, too, for Bo-seon to guess the meaning of why he stood there like a statue carved from stone. Time enough to see that his power was gone, time enough to understand that no help was coming for the village from their dragon now.

Time enough to utter a single word as the life left his eyes and he fell forward onto the boards.

“ _No!_ ” Or perhaps, “ _go!_ ”

So-min couldn’t though; he couldn’t even begin to process what had just happened, not before it was too late at least. For after a moment of stunned silence at the killing of the village elder, all heads turned to the walkway where So-min stood.

Dawon’s eyes were the first to meet his, cold now and full of the fervour of hate for his very existence that he had come to recognise for what it was, the history and the pain behind it, a fire kindled and tended by his father raging for years unchecked out there in the wilds of exile.

He was the monster responsible for all the cruelties in the world, in their eyes. And in that moment, he did not doubt that they would kill him for it, as the man beside Dawon nocked an arrow and drew.

And in that moment, as the light of a torch glinted off the arrowhead, and still he could not move because of the numbness in his foot and the strangeness of his body and the feeling that his mind was floating, his spirit tugging on him as he struggled to stay focused, there came a thought: perhaps that might be for the best. Perhaps the arrow would find his heart and it would be his blood that stained the boards.

 _Perhaps it would be over quickly._  
  
That thought terrified him with how peaceful it made him feel, as well as the simplicity of it. It would be so easy…his death would come in seconds, and - yes - there it was, arcing towards him as the archer released.

So-min closed his eyes, those long, stretched out moments when life and death were in flux around him, as he waited for the end. Perhaps his whole life had been this waiting, he thought. He hoped that his family would somehow make it out of this alive, but he knew in that moment, that he himself would not, and there was nothing left that he could do for them. As he breathed what he knew would be his last breaths, he thought of them; he would see Joona again soon, he realised, and Geon. That would be nice.

But the arrow never came; there was no sharp metal piercing his chest, no impact knocking him backwards.

Instead, there was something heavy and fast hurtling towards him from the left, knocking him hard onto his side on the walkway to land in a painful tangle on the boards.

So-min saw stars explode behind his eyes as his head cracked against the wood; there was something - or someone, he realised - lying across his chest, small, skinny arms wrapped tight around him.

A moment later, he felt the warmth of soft hair against his face, a very familiar voice raised in a high-pitched, wordless cry of distress, desperately seeking comfort.

“ _So-min!_ I came back to find you, So-min…”

So-min caught his breath, mingling relief and fear and love so intense that it brought tears to his eyes welling within him.

“Ara” was all that he could say, leaning against the barrier and holding her, as she hugged him around the middle, almost tight enough to bruise his ribs. His arms fit all the way around her, and she tucked her head under his chin, sobbing loudly into his neck as he stroked her hair. “Ara…” he wanted to tell her it was alright, but the lie wouldn’t come out of his mouth; not now, not like this.

“So-min, they were going to kill you!” Ara sobbed, voice breaking on a wail. “They tried to lock me up but In-na and me got out and I came back for you, because I…I knew that it was you they wanted, and I’m not gonna let them hurt you! I came to save you!”

So-min nodded. “And you did… in every possible way, you did…” he said softly, his heart aching; Ara would never know how truly he meant what he said. There had been so many times that she had saved him, bit by bit, in these last months, _his_ last months. And So-min knew now that a moment ago, he had been about to make a terrible mistake. He had been about to give up, but now he knew that he must hold on to life for as long as he could, if only to keep Ara safe.

“S…So-min?”

He was pulled back into the present by Ara’s gasp, her urgent voice; he followed her gaze, and saw in a moment the reason for her fear.  
All of the people below were looking up at the two of them. The archer was nocking another arrow, as Dawon stood with a bloody blade in hand, over Bo-seon’s body.

As the archer drew, So-min got to his feet, setting Ara down and getting in front of her, determined, wiping blood from the side of his head; it was already welling up at his temple where it had struck the wooden boards, but the pain was sharp, cutting, and there was a kind of clarity to it.

But even as he did so, there was another cry; a young man, holding a spear too long for him and charging at the archer with a roar of rage. At such short range the archer was forced to drop his bow and draw a dagger, ducking beneath the blow to try to stab at the attacker. The blades clashed together, but the sound was lost, as more people from the village poured out of their doors, armed and ready to fight. Amid the sound of clashing metal and screams, So-min could make out cries: _Ryokuryuu! Ryokuryuu! Ryokuryuu!_  
  
Again, So-min felt his eyes fill with tears; the village was fighting back, badly outnumbered and taken by surprise though they were. And they were fighting to protect him, and Ara. The village that he had been stolen away to to keep him safe was now doing just that, though he had never quite felt as though he fitted in. Yet here they were, fighting for his freedom against the people who hated his very blood, because they knew that it was right.

That was what made up So-min’s mind; wearily, he picked up his dropped bow and drew out an arrow from his quiver. Though his motions might be weak and clumsy, he could still move, and while he could still move, he would fight. He would fight for the people of his village that still cared enough to fight for him.

“Ara” he said, turning to her, kneeling down to her level, a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to listen to me. You need to _stay here_ , alright? On this walkway.” That, he hoped, would at least be safe. Though perhaps nowhere was truly safe now.

As he had expected, she protested. “But So-min…!”

He hushed her. “No. I know what you want… you want to help me, right?”

She nodded, tearful. “I’m scared, So-min! You…” she looked doubtfully down at his leg, her voice hushed. “You…you don’t have the power anymore. I know you don’t! You’ll die!”

He closed his eyes for a moment, a tear rolling down his cheek at the sight of her in such anguish. “I won’t die” he said, softly.

She blinked away tears. “You…you promise? I’ll see you again?”

So-min forced out the words. “I promise.”

“Then I promise to stay here, too.”

He smiled sadly, and kissed her forehead, wiping away her tears, knowing that his promise would only be kept when she saw him again above the skies.

And with that thought, So-min turned away from her, running down a stairway to the battle that had erupted on the lower level of the village, already nocking an arrow. Behind him, Ara was left clinging to the handrail of the walkway with small, trembling hands as below there came the ringing and the clash of spears and swords.

  
What neither Ara nor So-min saw - what none of them saw, the people fighting on the boardwalk and on the high walkways and on the stairs - was a shattered lantern, not quite extinguished when it had fallen from the hand of the slain elder and rolled behind the house.

A spilled runnel of lamp oil ran across the wooden boards, seeping into the cracks as a small blue flame, near invisible, caught and ran along its length.  
It trickled along the boards until it reached a bushel of kindling under the eves. A moment later, a fire had started, small yet and unnoticed, but growing in the dark space between the wooden walls as all around the village, the battle began to rage in earnest.

* * *

 

In-na and Miju peered from the shadows, around the gentle bend of the terrace looming steeply above them, leaning out as far as they dared. Just there, on the path, was a bright brazier, and walking back and forth in front of it was a sentry, a torch in one hand and a spear in the other.

They didn’t speak; instead they shared a look in the half darkness, a nod, before striking out onto the path. Miju went ahead, In-na a little way behind.

As they reached the guard, Miju’s crowbar shot forward in a short, sharp, swing, striking the man in the back of the head; he collapsed beside the brazier with merely a muffled cry, but not before In-na had reached out and snatched the torch from his hand; there was a moment in which it nearly fell from her grip, and would have rolled down into the damp ditch and fizzled out, had she not managed to catch hold at the last moment. She shaded the light as best she could, immediately feeling exposed with her light on the dark hillside, as Miju checked the man’s pulse, rolling him into the ditch.

“Unconscious” said Miju, standing up. She looked over at In-na. “Will the torch last?”

In-na nodded. “I think so. But let’s be quick about it anyway.”

“Yes, we - ”

But before Miju could get any further, she was interrupted by a voice, cutting through the stillness and making them both flinch.

“Seon-yu? I thought I heard…” the voice broke off, then there was a gasp. “ _Hey!_ Hey, who goes there?”

Both of them froze for a split second, sharing a glance of pure panic in that moment, as suddenly another man came around the bend in the road, silhouetted in the moonlight which was illuminating the two of them in a bright silver glow, the evidence of their guilt clear as the shadowy mass of the unconscious man’s body in the ditch beside them.

Immediately, Miju raised her crowbar, even as the man’s eyes widened below the brim of his hat, with sudden recognition. “You!” he spat, his voice rising to a shout that could surely be heard all over the valley, making In-na wince. “ _Traitors! Runaways!_ _Stop them!_ ”

Miju swung at him with the crowbar, standing in front of In-na. For herself, In-na felt horribly powerless, with her cane gripped in white knuckles in one hand, the precious torch and the fire it bore – for which they risked all – clasped in the other.

She had fought when she was younger, of course; but the last time she had needed to fight had been that fateful night twenty-four years ago, when they had stolen So-min away from out of the storm. The night she had saved Jae-gyu’s life – just - but had paid the price for that with her ability to fight, most of the use of her leg.

And at the time, though the price was high, it had seemed acceptible if it meant that the village and the child was safe, if she had Jae-gyu and Geon close to her, her family all together and in relative peace.

But now, In-na thought, here was Miju, the woman who had betrayed her and helped or at least stood by in the killing of her daughter, then come back and saved her. And Miju was fighting to protect her, and In-na was suddenly struck with the terrible realisation that there was almost nothing she could do to help.

“In-na!” panted Miju, whirling around as she managed to get close, tripping the man so that he dropped his spear. “You have to go…” she grimaced as he scrambled up and drew a dagger.

“I’m not leaving you!” In-na yelled and lunged forward, willing her troublesome leg to move as it once had, but she merely felt a bolt of pain shoot up to her hip, and her blow with the cane and the torch clasped together went wide, striking the ground and nearly putting the torch out, throwing sparks as she desperately steadied herself.

Miju was locked in the man’s grasp now, desperately seizing his wrist as he tried to drive the dagger up into her throat. He cried out as she twisted his wrist around and wriggled free, though the knife still caught her; a long graze from its tip appeared on her cheek as she slipped under his arm, the wound blooming with dark blood in the pale light. Then Miju was parrying with the crowbar, a moment later knocking his feet out from under him with a savage kick to his ankles.

But he fell half over her, and as he did he threw all his weight behind his dagger, driving it into Miju’s shoulder with enough force to drive it into her flesh to the hilt. Miju’s scream split the night, and In-na found herself screaming with her, with pain and anger as the man fell at her feet, and she brought her cane down hard enough on his skull that he she heard a horrible crack and a moment later, saw a pool of blood begin to spread.

In-na was stunned, staring for a long moment, until Miju broke her out of her reverie. She was pale and trembling, clutching the stab wound in her shoulder, even as blood began to well between her fingers.

“Here, let me…” In-na tailed off, already thinking of tearing a strip of cloth off the hem of her tunic, but Miju stilled her fingers with a touch.

“No” said Miju, the quiet firmness in her voice belying her trembling, blood-slippery fingers. “You have to go! Someone will have heard that, back at the camp. Someone will come running, and soon. Take the torch, carry on with the plan…”

“But they’re coming! They’ll see me trying to sneak past the camp on open ground, for sure!”

Miju frowned, thinking, or possible grimacing in pain. Probably both, In-na thought. “You can go around the other way. It’ll be longer, but if you stick to the edge of the woods they might not see you. It’ll take longer, but you might still be able to make it… it’s your only chance…”

“Miju, I can’t leave you!”

“You’ve got to.” Miju gritted her teeth. “You owe me nothing, In-na. I can promise you that.”

“By the gods Miju, it’s not a matter of _owing_! You’re bleeding… you’ll die!”

“I won’t die” said Miju, through gritted teeth. “I’ll follow you, I’ll be right behind. But… you have to go!”

“I can’t!” In-na realised there were tears on her face, her hand trembling so hard that the torch flame flickered. “I… Miju…”

But Miju was pointing to the camp up on the hill, where, sure enough, several people bearing torches were running down the hillside. “ _Now_ , In-na! If you don’t go now, you’ll die too. Go around the other way…”

“B-but…!”

Miju grabbed her by the shoulders, looking straight into In-na’s eyes with steel in her gaze. “In-na” she said. “Let me do this. Let me hold them off. Think of it as…” her face twisted. “For what you did for my son. For…for what _I_ did to your daughter. I know I can never repay that, but…let me do this.”

There was a short silence, as In-na looked back into Miju’s eyes and the world seemed to contain only the two of them. Then, very slowly, she nodded. She leaned their foreheads together, touching for just a moment, and felt Miju’s hands clasp hers, over her grip on her cane.

Then Miju pulled away, gripping her crowbar in her right hand once more, picking up the fallen man’s dagger in her left.

She did not look back, and In-na knew that was her signal to go. So she did; she turned away and hurried in the other direction, back around the terrace’s edge to strike out towards the wood.

It was a longer, harder route, but she struggled on, her feet and her cane slipping and struggling for purchase on the damp ground; she kept to the ditches and the edges of the roads for safety. She lost her balance and fell several times in the mud, but each time she was able, by some miracle, to save the torch, to keep it above ground and alight.

By the time she made it to the edge of the forest, she felt a little less exposed, but still her mind filled the blackness outside her little flickering globe of yellow-gold torchlight with untold dangers as she hurried under the trees’ low-hanging boughs.

The torch was beginning to sputter; the tallow would soon be gone and it would fizzle to nothing, In-na knew.

She gritted her teeth and speeded up, as fast as she could go, leaning hard on her cane, which sank into the soft forest loam a little. It hurt, but she knew she could make it; she had to.

It was too far away – or perhaps the woods were too deep – to either see or hear any sign of what was happening on the terraced hillside, or in the village for that matter. That was probably good. That meant that she could put what might be happening to Miju, to her family, wherever they were, from her mind and concentrate on the task at hand, on her plan.

The plan… thinking on it now, In-na realised that she had no certainty that it would even work. When she had come up with it, it had seemed so clear and so easy, but doubts assailed her as she pushed herself on through the dark. There were so many ways that this could fail, she saw now, and simply nothing happening wasn’t the worst of them; not by a long way.

She was just thinking this as she reached the thinning of the trees that indicated she was nearing the correct place.

A moment later, she could see the back of the little wood-built shrine up ahead. She remembered So-min as a child; he had been afraid of this place too, and they had kept him away from it as much as possible. But they had come here with Geon’s ashes when he died, and because the village had no priest then, it had been Bo-seon who had spoken words over them, and In-na herself who had led the people in placing offerings to the gods.

It had been her, too, who had led them in hanging their figurines on the dragon tree. She remembered the day she had stitched the tiny figure from cloth and leather. It had been raining, and Jae-gyu had been sitting by the fire, simply staring into its depths, the dancing flames reflected in her dark eyes, closed off in her grief. Jae-gyu had gone silent and locked the pain in her heart away, even from In-na, for a long while after Geon had died. The house had felt too large and too empty, in those days following his death; it was very early in the morning, and So-min and Joona were still in bed, and the silence broken only by the sound of rain had pressed in on the two of them as In-na’s hands worked with needle and thread and leather to keep her own tears at bay.

She skirted around the shrine itself now, and came to the dragon tree with her torch. The drooping, dark-boughed conifer was festooned with figurines, some ancient and held together by threads, some rotting, some unravelling. They didn’t last more than a century or so, or there would be too many now for the branches to hold, she knew.

_So many dead dragons, so many left behind, grieving. So many ghosts._

But that, of course, was what she was here for. She shivered, raising the torch higher. She herself had never had the connection with the spirits that Ki-nam and So-min had, but even so, she could feel _something_ here. A concentration of them, gathering close about her and pressing in, as though seeking the warmth and the light of her torch. But she could also feel an unrest, like the crackling in the air before a thunderstorm, and she could hear a rustling and movement all around that did not come from the gentle wind of a spring night, stirring the tree branches

It was not malevolent, exactly, she thought, as she looked up at the tree. It was something else, something that tugged at the heart. There was anger there, yes, centuries of pain and things kept hidden and locked away, lives cut short too soon. But there was also yearning there, prisoners locked in the dark, longing to be free and fly into a bright sky.

The village’s history had been a cruel and bloody one, but the cruelest part of the fate of the Ryokuryuu, In-na thought, was the short time allowed to them. They blinked out like candle flames, leaving behind those that loved them. For they were here too, she realised. All the village’s people who had been left behind; they lingered here too, with their dragons, drawing as close as they could, like moths to a flame.

She wondered briefly whether that would be her own fate; it seemed to be her destiny to always be left behind, for those she loved to have to leave before her.

Now she could see the very figurine she had made for Geon, all those years ago; she remembered where she had put it, and for eighteen years it had been undisturbed. She reached up and touched it, feeling the cool leather. The touch alone gave her strength; he was here somewhere, she knew. Not in the figurine itself – his spirit could never be confined so - but somewhere close, lingering.

In-na was jolted out of her musings by a sound, from the camp. She turned her head so fast it hurt her neck, raising her torch; she must hurry, she knew. But what she saw made her eyes widen in horror, her heart flying into her throat.

Several people were running towards her; they must have seen her torch as she lingered by the tree. But behind them, someone was fighting three others, running with them and keeping pace; crying out in pain, moving strangely as though wounded badly, but following at their heels all the same.

In-na did not need to see a face to know that it was Miju; she had kept her promise, In-na thought with a strange clarity, despite the tears in her eyes. She had said that she would follow, and she had.

In-na squared her shoulders; now, then, it was time to keep her own promise. She looked at the people running towards her, fighting Miju. She bit her lip as she watched a sword come down on Miju, saw her fall to the ground. But even as she did, In-na wrenched her gaze away, holding the torch aloft and turning to the tree.

She steeled herself to touch the torch to the branches. But before she did, as an afterthought, she took down the little leather figurine she had made for Geon, tucking it into her belt-pouch, with the book that she had almost forgotten she had been carrying all this time.

She would give the figurine to Jae-gyu, when she saw her next, In-na decided. Jae-gyu would like that, or at least she would understand.

There came a scream from behind her, the sound of hurried footsteps, now free of their pursuit by Miju. Now was the time, or never. With a deep breath, In-na thrust the torch into the tree’s lower branches, until the flame caught, whistling as it greedily consumed still-green needles, spreading quickly to the entire branch. The she did it again, setting another branch on the other side alight, then another, and another. The ghosts around her were pressing even closer now, so close she could almost touch them, almost hear their voices inside her head. They were impatient, longing, talking over each other in clamouring tumult. Some of them were _old_ , ancient and twisted and angry; some were young and desperate, crying out in protest.

She could feel them coming free as the tree caught, its branches throwing off heat and smoke, glowing against her face fiercely. She turned away, faced the guards who were running towards her with drawn sword and a spear.

In-na raised the torch once more as she felt a familiar presence at her side; one, then two, standing about her. She could only see them out of the corners of her eyes, but on one side, there was the figure of a man, looking at her with a bright smile in his eyes, fierce anger and light. On the other, a woman, not much different in age from him – _they had neither of them ever had the chance to grow old_ – with a mass of wild hair the colour of ashes, holding a spear and grinning brightly at her, so close to the living world that In-na could almost see her footprints in the grass.

 _I knew I’d see you again_ , thought In-na, somehow understanding that the two could hear her. _But…_ and she nearly laughed, through her tears, _I didn’t think it would happen quite like this_. She felt the spirits of Geon and Joona smile, exchanging a look as countless other ghosts swarmed and clustered around, pouring out of the burning behind like smoke. Ki-nam’s guards seemed to be able to see them too, for they, and the few others from the camp who had run over to join them, were staring, wide-eyed and horrified, at In-na as she stood surrounded by the their spectral forms.

 _I’m sorry_ , thought In-na at the collective of them, her heart suddenly heavy as she understood something. _I’m going to_ _make you wait for me a little longer_ _. There’s somewhere else you’re needed you see…I need to ask you to protect the village. No, don’t worry…I’ll be alright._

Again, the silent spirit forms seemed to rustle and discuss amongst themselves without voices. But a moment later, she saw out of the corner of her tear-filled eyes, Joona’s form raise her spear and Geon nod and hold out his hand to touch In-na’s arm gently. Though she didn’t feel a physical touch, there was a sensation of the hairs on her wrist rising, something that might almost have been warmth, had it been a real sensation.

A moment after that, they were gone, Geon and Joona leading the rest, a torrent of thousands of wisps of soft grey-green, twining and winding around each other and some crackling with supressed power, the exhilaration of freedom after many years kept confined, silent and waiting.

Finally they slowed to a trickle, and then they were gone entirely, leaving a shocked hush in their wake. All the people who had gathered were staring at her, In-na realised; they had all raised weapons, but were standing there in dumbstruck fear as though they barely knew what to do with them after what they had just witnessed.

Even the children, who had come from the camp by now to see what the fuss was about. Near the front, a young boy and a girl with hair the colour of river moss were protecting each other, making signs at In-na as though to ward off evil.

But no one would not attack her, In-na realised. They feared her now, this silhouette of a woman thrown into shadow with the light of the burning tree at her back, who had so easily called upon the ghosts of the past, the ghosts that were the only thing their leader feared.

Cautiously, In-na lowered her arm, dropping the torch into the grass, where it finally went out in a soft puff of smoke.

Even as it did though, In-na felt a weight fall against her arm; instinctively, she reached out and caught Miju, as her legs gave way. She knocked In-na off balance, but it was not very far to fall; there was only a little pain in In-na’s bad leg as she fell softly to the grass, and she was barely conscious of it, her heart immediately aching once more.

Miju looked _bad_ ; she was soaked with blood from the stab wound in her shoulder, the cut on her face, and many others. Her teeth were gritted in pain. As she shifted, In-na saw a bone-deep sword cut to her back, and her eyes widened in horror; it was just the sort of wound that had nearly killed Jae-gyu, all those years ago, and the blood was gushing from it, staining In-na’s clothes and her hands red.

“Miju…!” once more, In-na fumbled for a cloth to stauch the bleeding – though she was already beginning to despair, for what could she do against so much hurt, such grievous wounds? - but once again, Miju stilled her hands.

“It’s…alright” said Miju, looking up at her with clear eyes. “That’s…that’s enough now. It’s done.”

In-na cradled her head in her arms. “Miju, no, I…I still…”

“No, In-na” said Miju. There was blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth, and a trickle ran down her chin, her breath coming with difficulty. “N-no. Just… p-promise me one thing…”

“Anything” said In-na, and meant it with all her heart.

“Remember… please, remember what happened here… _please_ , In-na. Remember that I wasn’t always bound by… by him…”

“Always…” In-na nodded, wiping tears from her eyes with bloody hands as Miju’s eyes slipped closed. “You’re free, Miju. And I’ll remember it.”

And with that, Miju nodded once, then breathed out a sigh, then moved no more.

The people were still watching in stunned silence as In-na sat there in the blood-soaked grass, holding Miju’s body in her arms. She cried, not only for Miju but for and for all the ways she might have failed those she loved. For Joona, and for Geon, for So-min and Jae-gyu and Ara, and even a little for Ki-nam and what he could have been, had circumstances been different. For all the centuries of bloodshed and pain that had passed. 

For a long, long time In-na simply wept into Miju’s hair and rocked gently, almost though she were lulling a child to sleep.


	23. By the grace of the fire and the flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song Believer by Imagine Dragons, because I feel like that song fits this fic in a nonspecific sort of way, but also there is... a lot of fire in this chapter??

So-min gasped out a cry, fired two arrows and ducked, as a man’s vicious sword stroke nearly cleft through the empty air where his head had been a moment before. He cursed in anger; his reactions were getting slower, he was sure of it now. His fighting, already severely hampered by the loss of his power and much of his strength, was becoming more of a struggle for his own survival than anything that could be called a defense of the village.

Yet even as he whirled past others - people he had known since childhood, who had played on the walkways and the paths and terraces surrounding the village with him and Joona when they were young - he heard people call his name, cry out to him. Cheer for him, sometimes.

They were fighting back. Some were dead already - So-min’s heart ached when he saw the body of a man who had been a friend of Joona’s, cut down on the walkway above him - but many more were still fighting. Ki-nam’s people were strong, toughened by years on the road, and by suffering, and by grief. But his own people were strong too; he was beginning to see that now, even as he himself was growing weaker by the moment. 

He ducked another blow from a tall woman with an angry pink burn scar across her face, spreading upwards and half covered by hair the yellow-green of spring buds. He barely had time to wonder how she had sustained such an injury - _had it been her dragon’s blood that had made her life a cruel and hard one? Is that why she had followed Ki-nam, why she was willing to fight to the death for his revenge against the dragons?_ \- before he was drawing his dagger and locking it with the hilt of her sword, using his momentum to shove her to one side and off the side of the walkway as he cast around for dropped arrows; he was running out, and without his power it would be much harder to get away from this blind corner and replenish his quiver.

But there were two arrows stuck in a wooden beam a little way off; he lunged forward, grasping them by the shafts and yanking them out. One of the heads came off, sticking in the wood, but the other was intact, and he nocked it immediately, firing it at a man down on the lower level. So-min felt a stab of disgust as he saw that the man had a great club raised over the head of a wide-eyed child, whose mother was sheltering her with her body; the woman’s hair was already stained with blood. As So-min released the arrow, the man gasped out a cry and fell, the mother immediately pulling her sobbing daughter away to safety.

He grimaced, reminded once more of Ara. He had hoped she would be safe up on the highest level, but now the fighting was spreading higher and higher, and he wasn’t so sure anymore.

It was then that he saw the first column of smoke, rising high into the moonlit sky.

At first he thought it was from a brazier, or perhaps a chimney; but it was thicker than it should be, and growing, beginning to gush upwards in a torrent lit orange from below. He dodged, trying to see where it was coming from, the battle in a moment slipping down to second in a long line of fears.

Growing up, So-min had always been taught caution around fire; everyone was, in this village of wooden spars and struts and thatch. Again, he cursed under his breath; he couldn’t see where the smoke was coming from, though he was certain now that it wasn’t either lamp or hearth. He fought the impulse to throw himself across the gap of air between himself and where he saw the smoke; the gap that once would have been nothing to him, but now felt as daunting as a bottomless, endless chasm.

Even as he cast about for another way, he heard cries coming from same place as the smoke; the village was shaped in a rough circle, clinging to its little hillock rising out of the swampy ground. He was on the very opposite edge of the circle from the smoke, about as far away as he could be.

If he could only get to his own house, he thought. It was in the exact centre of the village, older and built of stone and tile, more solid than the others around it. And from the roof he’d have a better view of everything that was going on, and perhaps if he could shelter people in there they would be safer. In the cellar, perhaps.

More to the point, he realised, the village well was beside it, and he even if he had no power anymore he could still operate the pulley system and start getting water to put out the blaze before it spread. So-min squinted at the fire, trying to work out where it had started, and where would be likely to spread next; his eyes widened as realised.

It was next to the gatehouse, so that meant… surely that was Yeong-an’s liquor shop, with its storehouse filled with bottles in the alleyway outside. _And if the fire spread there_ …

So-min was just thinking this, when there was a sound; a low, rumbling crash that he felt in the vibrations of the boards he stood on as much as heard. Moments later, screams erupted, cutting through the clashing of swords and the cries of pain and death from the fighting in the streets, and smoke - which had before been gushing - was billowing now, lit with blue as well as orange. He could feel the heat rolling off the inferno from where he stood now. Sweat beaded his forehead, dripping into his eye along with the flakes of dried blood from where he had hit his head. He wiped it away; he had to stay focused, at least until this was done.

He began to run; other buildings were aflame now, and the people who had been taking shelter from the fighting within them were rushing out onto the street, children getting separated from their parents as they tried to weave through the fighting. There was a bottleneck of panicked people on one of the upper walkways; he could see the way itself swaying with more weight and footfall than it was designed to carry, as they began to run for the bridge across the dry ditch and into the rice fields. But, he realised with mounting horror, they couldn’t get there anyway; the bridge out of the village was on the other side of the burning houses that the explosion had caught ablaze. Momentarily, So-min thought of Jae-gyu; he had left her under the bridge, but even that was likely burning now, the fire from the houses at that edge of the village spreading along its length. Soon, the ways both into and out of the village would be completely blocked.

Yet not everyone had the vantage point to see that yet. Even though some of Ki-nam’s people had laid down their weapons in fear and were fleeing too, there was still the clash of blades, still screams of anger and desperation and fierce battle, but the situation was rapidly turning to bloody chaos.

This was bad; So-min had never felt so powerless. Yet he simply couldn’t stand by and do nothing. With gritted teeth, he hauled himself out onto the rail of the encircling covered walkway on which he had been fighting, clutching the wooden pillar. It took almost more strength than he had, but from there he was able to grasp the eave with both hands, to pull himself up onto the pitched roof of the walkway. He ran along it a little way, to where a rope hung down from the next walkway up; he gave it a sharp tug, making sure it would hold his weight, before pulling himself up it. It took great effort; climbing was never a skill So-min had needed to master before.

By the time he reached the narrower highwalk and levered himself up and over the rail, it was all he could do not to collapse with exhaustion. But instead, he forced his weary muscles into motion once more.

 _The well_ ; he had to concentrate on that. He didn’t even know how he would get enough water to put out the fire - perhaps there wasn’t enough water in the whole world, he thought in a haze. But he had fixed his thoughts on that; even if it was a small chance, it was their only one, the only source of water within the village.

At least Ara would be able to get away, he thought. Even if no one else could, even if everyone else was doomed to die here, she could fly into the sky. She would survive. He held onto that fact like a talisman; with the world tilting beneath his feet it was all he had that was certain.

He scrambled up and ran along the walkway to where a stair ran down towards another circling walkway, closer to the centre of the village. But as soon as he stepped on it, it creaked in protest and swung violently to the side under his foot, so that he would have fallen if he had not grabbed the stout upright spar at the last moment. This bridge was narrower, held up by ropes which had been cut on one side, he saw now; all but one hung slack and useless. Someone must have been fighting here, perhaps they had cut the ropes with a stroke of a sword, leaving the bridge hanging limply for a stretch, too unstable to stand on.

So-min gritted his teeth. The house, and the well beside it, was so close; there was only the wide gap of the main circular thoroughfare of the village. As he looked across the gap, he balled his hands into fists. It was so _frustrating_ , being thwarted by a gap that would normally have been so easy for him to cross that he would have done it without thinking.

The fire burned a little higher, lighting the night orange as it illuminated the underside of the great cloud of smoke hanging over the village. The moment stretched out as in his mind he went through the options; he could go down and then up again, but it would take much longer; besides, below him in the street he could see a flood of people, fast becoming a stampede, both sides running together away from the flames in panic and tumult.

He could join them, he thought for a moment. He could run away, die in peace. No one would ever fault him for standing back, for giving in when there was nothing else he could do.

But what if there was still something he could do? The idea would not leave his mind. Just a few months ago, he knew, he would have simply given up, but something had happened to him, this final season of his life. He had become better, and he had learned. He had come to understand that there were things that he _could_ do, but more importantly there were things that couldn’t _not_ do.

“So-min!”

A voice broke him out of his reverie, and immediately his eyes widened in horror as he recognised it.

 _No, no, no…..she couldn’t be here. She should be safe, she should be away, that was what he had been counting on_ ….

But it was true; across the gap, rising to her feet on the roof of the house of the Ryokuryuu, was Ara. She was waving to him with one hand, and in the other she was clutching a coil of rope.

“So-min…” she called again. “I’ll come over to you…”

But immediately he shook his head. “No! The bridge will break if you try to land…” this he knew for sure; it had almost fallen under his foot, then Ara landing from a leap - even though she was smaller than he - would surely be too much for it to bear.

Ara frowned, folding her arms and pouting. But a mere moment later she lit up again. “Oh! I know what to do!”

She was leaning down over something now, teeth gritted in concentrated effort. She stood up, a proud smile on her face. It brought tears to his eyes, as it brought back their archery lessons, how she had wanted so much to learn from him. It was the face she made when she mastered something, when she grew stronger. She held up what she had in her hands, and So-min saw that it was a small stone, tied around with rope. The other end of the rope was tied to the ceramic, turquoise-glazed dragon statuette on the edge of the tiled roof. Ara’s shoulders were squared, her face set with more determination than So-min had seen in people many times her age, and though it broke his heart that she should be caught up in this - she should never have had to fight, never have had to save him time and time again - despite himself, it gave him strength to see her there. Ara began to swing the weighted, free end of the rope in a circle, wider and wider as she narrowed her eyes; he was reminded of their hours of target practice, how before he had taught her archery, he had made her practice throwing stones. He had taught her to imagine the trajectory in her mind, and she had practiced and practiced, and quickly improved.

After a moment, Ara released the stone, and they both watched it fly across the gap. So-min had to duck then, as at the last moment the rope struck the upright strut behind him, wrapping around it several times propelled by the stone. But when he rose to his feet again, So-min couldn’t help but suppress a triumphant grin; for there, stretching across the gap, was a span of rope, sloping downwards, but pulled taught across the distance.

He wasted no time; immediately, he was securing it to the post with a knot. Then he took a deep breath, looking up at Ara who was waiting expectantly on the other side. _This may be madness… it’s a plan hatched by a seven-year-old and a reckless idiot who doesn’t have long to live, and it shows. But any plan is still better than no plan at all_ , he thought, sharp tears in his eyes.

And with that, he pulled out his bow and hooked it over the rope, grasping both ends in his hands and climbing up onto the railing; it creaked loudly as he did, under his shifting weight, but held.

His heart lurched into his throat as he pushed off, launching himself into the gap, suspended by the rope. The hot wind rushed against his face as he flew across the gap, clinging desperately to the bow with all the strength he had. He was aware that he was screaming as he went, with fear and exhilaration both, but he couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears.

A moment later, he hit the other end; the rope had drooped so much under his weight that he was almost catapulted into the window of the loft room by the force, but managed to save himself by grasping onto the window’s lintel under the eaves, letting go of his bow at the last moment and sending it springing away to the ground. In that moment he barely noticed its loss as he once would have; pain shot through his body from his shins where they struck the window ledge, but he bit down on his lip, pushing the pain away and scrambling up from the window to the roof, where he could see Ara peeking over the edge in wide-eyed concern.

“I’m…I’m alright” he said, as he dragged himself up over the ledge of the roof. He sat up, pushing the sweaty tangle of hair back up off his forehead as she knelt in front of him. There was blood dribbling down into his eye again, but he wiped it away, along with the tears, and swept Ara close in a clumsy, still kneeling hug, which she returned.

“Didn’t I make you promise you would stay safe?” he whispered resignedly into her hair.

She sniffed, pulling away from him and looking up apprehensively. “Yes…” she hung her head, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “But…” she muttered something unintelligible.

“What?” she hesitated for a moment more, until he sighed. “Ara, I’m not angry…” he stifled a sob. “Not…not at you. Just…scared.” The words were hard to say, but he felt better after them.

Ara raised her head, tears in her eyes. “You said…you said you’d be safe, but you’re not!” she cried. “You’d die! It…it would be just like Mama…”

So-min’s eyes widened. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Mama made me promise the same! She said to run away, and that…th-that she’d be alright… but she wasn’t! She died and left me alone! And maybe… maybe I could have saved her…” Ara was sobbing now; behind her, the flames rose ever higher, but in this moment So-min barely noticed. “I…I know I broke my promise, and it’s…it’s bad to break a promise…” she hiccuped another sob. “B-but….but I couldn’t leave you!” She clutched the front of his tunic, fists balled up in it. “I can protect you!”

“Ara…” So-min was crying again, crying for all he had lost, for all that Ara had lost and would lose, the grief of past and present and future combined. “Ara…” for a while all he could do was say her name, rock her in his arms. Of course she had come back…had he really thought she would stay away? He realised now that he had been half expecting, selfishly half-hoping even, to see her again before he died.

Yet the awareness came crashing back, that she was too young for any of this, far too young to see more suffering than anyone should have to see at any age. It was all so desperately unfair; and in that moment, he felt new anger course through him: anger at the gods, anger at his father, anger at the uncaring forces that had brought them - supposedly those chosen to be the honoured bearers of the power - to this fate.

He stood up, still holding Ara’s hand. “I know you can…” he said. “But… not yet. I can still protect you for a little while longer…and I will. As long as I live, I will.”

That went for the rest of the village too. So-min turned his face to the fire, that was spreading rapidly through the outer rings of the village now. He looked over the side of the roof; below him, the stream of people leaving the village was thinning out; there were many who had been killed in the fighting or crushed in the stampede, but those who had not must have finally managed to climb down into the ditch. It was steep and treacherous, but he supposed - hoped - that some at least had managed it. Below him, he could see the well; he wondered if there was any reason still to try to get water, when the blaze around him was so intense, so overwhelming.

He paused for a moment, caught by indecision - should he carry on with the plan for which he had risked so much, or should he try to help people get to safety, to save as many as he could?

It seemed clear that he should try the latter. But even as he stood there thinking, his hand in Ara’s, there was another sound; a cry, from a walkway on the other side. He turned to face it and gasped; backlit by the flames were two familiar figures fighting, the walkway shuddering and shaking with each step. Two fighters, well matched to each other; sister and brother, each other’s equal in battle, though the course of years apart had shaped them so that they were different in almost every way. The bridge was one of the high, narrow ones, with not even a railing, there were no houses so high, so it was a less travelled way. It was suspended only with ropes from spars made from the single trunks of tall pines, looming high above the roof where So-min and Ara stood, but close enough to the centre so as to be yet untouched by the flames.

Jae-gyu’s double spear blades spun in a skillful, circular blur, but despite her deadly precision she was only just keeping Ki-nam’s sword at bay as they danced their precarious steps along the roof of the covered walkway. So-min could only watch, wide eyed, as Ki-nam’s head turned to face him and Ara, his face immediately twisting into a mask of fury at the sight of them.

Jae-gyu turned to look too, her face filled with fear; though fear for him, and for Ara, not for herself, he recognised. Still, she kept her head up and her fighting stance precise, and did not lose her focus; she easily parried the blow that Ki-nam took the opportunity to strike at her, and a moment later thrust back at him with a skillful low reverse cut.

But Ki-nam dodged the blow; his attention was on the ropes holding that section of the walkway.

So-min realised what Ki-nam was planning a fraction of a section later. “Jae-gyu!” he called out, but it was too late; already, Ki-nam was slashing the ropes with his sword, sending the portion of the bridge on which he stood crashing down. But as it fell, Ki-nam had grabbed the cut rope, using it to swing himself down and land on the tiled roof beside So-min and Ara.

So-min pushed Ara behind him and drew his dagger in alarm, as Ki-nam drew himself up, eyes wild and full of rage. Hastily, he looked back up at the place where Jae-gyu had been; to his relief, she had been quick enough to grasp onto the bridge, and was clinging to the end which was now hanging in the air. She had even managed to catch herself without dropping her spear So-min saw, quite impressed despite everything. She was already beginning to haul herself up towards where the next rope suspended the bridge and she could get a firmer foothold.

But So-min had more immediate concerns. For Ki-nam was standing in front of him, anger in his eyes. “You!” he spat, fury in every line of his body. “I never meant to see this village destroyed, but _you_ …you _had_ to fight!” He gestured all around. “ _You_ did this!”

So-min bared his teeth, anger rising once more, blazing white hot. “ _Your fucking people did this!_ ” he hurled back, dagger outstretched.

“They were shouting your name as they cut my people down! None of this would have happened in another village…the dragon’s blood is a curse!”

“The dragon’s blood in me is from _you_!” So-min flung out his arms, throwing his chest wide open; as though daring his father to stab at him, to spill the blood from his very heart. Right now he was almost too furious to care. He felt a rush of cruel satisfaction as he saw Ki-nam wince at his words. He gritted his teeth, collecting himself, reaching back; he felt Ara’s hand tentatively slip into his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, to calm her fear. It helped to ground him, too. “But even that’s not what makes you the monster you are. So, I am telling you now, exile… you will _leave!_ And you will never come near me or any of my successors ever again…” out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jae-gyu swing down on another rope from the broken walkway, which moments later went up in flames. She stood between them, staring from one to the other in something like awe. So-min took a breath and continued; he couldn’t lose focus now. “….Or I swear on the gods who gave me this power….even when I die I will never let you rest. You can see the ghosts…well, I can too. I know how the unquiet spirits cry out, how they can scream in your head. You deserve that…” he was breathing hard, seeing stars explode in front of his eyes, “and maybe you didn’t at the beginning. But you chose this. Yes, I know what your life was like…”

“You cannot know!”

“I do!”

“I lost my father because of the dragon’s blood!”

So-min felt tears of fury roll down his face. “Well, _so did I!”_ There was a beat of shocked silence, but he forced himself to continue. “But it didn’t turn me cruel! It didn’t turn me into what you are!”

Ki-nam simply stood there for a fraction of a second, his mouth a little open, in shock perhaps. So-min didn’t know. But moments later, his face twisted once again in fury, _and he was raising his sword, and he was lunging forward, and_ -

And then Ki-nam froze, as something else happened. Rather, the whole world seemed to freeze, or at least, momentarily, to slow; Jae-gyu, moving in between the two of them to parry Ki-nam’s vicious sword-cut to So-min’s chest seemed to move as though the air had turned to thick fluid. There was a ringing in So-min’s ears, and he saw, when he looked at Ki-nam, sudden, pure terror in the man’s eyes. Jae-gyu, by contrast, was looking perplexed and afraid, as though she didn’t understand what was happening.

He barely had time to wonder why, before he had his anwer; he recognised the sensation immediately.

 _Ghosts_. Thousands upon thousands of spirits coming from… _where?_ He didn’t know, he didn’t understand, but suddenly they were simply there, all at once. It was like his childhood nightmares, but so much more; where that had been nausea and sleepwalking and night terrors, this was almost a physical sensation, another world pressing close to their own, a tide pushing him back almost bodily. He could see distortions in the air, suggestions of a crowd of people just on the edge of his perception.

And then the screaming began; they were crying out at Ki-nam, not him, some dim part of his mind registered. But all the same, it was deafening, his head feeling like it was about to split apart with their fury, his soul torn out and drowned amongst their ancient, spectral masses, completely overwhelmed in an instant.

And, in that moment, in his state of weakness and exhaustion, for a moment it was enough. It was enough to make him lose his focus on the living world, which was narrowing around him. Jae-gyu was reaching out to him in concern, her lips were moving with words he could not hear, but she was growing dimmer by the moment. He could feel Ara’s hand on his cheek, and dimly realised that he had fallen to one knee on the slope of the roof and his hands were covering his face.

He had no idea how long it went on for, this formless mass of distilled, ancient anger. But, quite unexpectedly it did have an end point; just as his vision had begun to tunnel, and consciousness was slipping from his grasp, it was over. The spirits went quiet, they let him go, and he was able to come back to himself again, for just a moment.

And in that moment, he was able to see one thing, one great fact; that it was too late. Already, he had lost his balance, his boots losing purchase on the glazed tiles and sending him collapsing sideways, faster than either Jae-gyu or Ara could reach out to him.

And then So-min was falling, falling down off the roof and towards the ground below. And in that stretched out moment, it almost felt familiar; freefall, after all, was natural to him, and falling was just another form of flying. And wasn’t he used to the ground rushing up to meet him?

No, not the ground this time, he realised; he almost laughed, as he saw the well looming up, a great dark hole in the ground. He had always been a little afraid of that place; he had heard the stories, about a dragon left down in the dark depths to die.

He had just the time to think this, before the flames lighting the village were dimmed, and there was only blackness, a great, black void below and on all sides, the last bright circle fading quickly above, and going completely black when he closed his eyes and reached out to the darkness that surrounded and cradled him now on all sides.


	24. More above us and below

_In each life, it is said, there are certain moments; moments at which everything turns around, and nothing is the same as it was before, and never will be the same again. Moments that there is no going back from. Sometimes – or indeed, often – it is also said, such moments are not evident at the time that they are happening, but are only seen for what they are much later, their significance only becoming apparent with time, and the passing of whatever joy or sorrow the moment may bring about._

The situation that Ryokuryuu So-min found himself in now was not an example of such a case; or so he understood at the time. For in that instant, he knew fully and completely what it meant, and how it would end, and felt his own powerlessness to change anything of it, the knowledge of it as acute as a blade to the heart.

Falling was a sensation that So-min knew very well indeed. He was intimately familiar with weightlessness, the way that gravity held him in the air in its predictable grip; every muscle in his body was attuned to it, through years of practice. Each time he jumped into the brightness of the sky with his god-given strength, after all, he had entrusted himself to its hold, and always trusted himself to land safely on his feet once he began to arc back towards the earth.

And before, he had always been right. 

Now though… now everything was different, and nothing was right. His power was gone, and weakness was filling him, and he was falling, falling backwards and over and over in a whirl of broken spars and ropes, the distant lights leaving bright trails across his vision as he fell.

The moment seemed to stretch out as he let the air take his body, realising the inevitable in a flash of clarity, cutting through the jolt of panic; this fall would be his last. As he fell through the air, sound dulled to a slow roaring, and as the wind blew back his hair, he caught sight of the ground below.

Or rather, not the ground. Instead, there was a great, yawning, circular darkness, rushing up to meet him.

 _The well_. His eyes widened as he fell, a clenching panic closing up his chest. It was too near, the darkness rushing up to meet him, to swallow him. It was too late. For an extended moment of swirling, dizzying panic, he had the impression that in there lay not a stone shaft with a paved bottom filled with water, but a great void, a blackness that consumed and destroyed. A world of both chaos and emptiness, yet suffused with a roiling sea of ghosts. He would fall straight into them and disappear, become indistinguishable from their screaming, writhing mass. It was getting closer, it was nearly at his back as he arced through the air. And in that moment, that stretched out moment, he reached out for it; it almost felt a relief, his hand reaching out to the blackness that would swallow him up. If this was to be his fate, then he would not go passively but reach out to meet it, to grasp hold.

A moment later, this vision was knocked cleanly out of his mind, at the sharp, jolting pain in his wrist, shooting a moment later through his entire body, only to disappear in the numbness  of his feet.

His senses fell back into place like shattering glass; when they did, he realised one thing.

He was no longer falling.

It was dark; he could barely see, he could only feel. A great pain in his hand, his wrist...there was something pulling it upwards as he hung suspended below the circle of light above, the darkness below and on all sides. He could see the moon through the smoke that drifted across it, but it was bisected by a thick black line.

A rope, he realised. The rope from which the well bucket hung, far below. In his fall, he must have blindly reached out and grasped at it.

There was pain, of course; the rope was wrapped around his wrist, and pain was radiating from the joint in waves, but he did not release or loosen his grip. He felt, almost, as though he _couldn’t_ let go, even if he had wanted to.

So-min blinked, trying to focus through waves of pain, the sharp overwhelming clarity in contrast to the black oblivion of the moment before, at war with his fading senses. It felt, almost, as though someone else was here with him, another hand clamped around his on the rope, firm and secure, determined to keep him from falling even as his body swung above the water, still far below him. But when he looked up, he realised he must have imagined it; there was nothing there. He was quite on his own, and no one could save him now.

He could let go, he thought, in a haze of pain. It would be easier, quicker. He was almost dead already; where would be the harm?

 _No. Look up_.

So-min looked up; above, he could see the circle of light that was the night sky, filled with orange-lit smoke, with the moon, and the rope crossing it. But he could also just make out the roof of his own house, the corner of it protruding over the pulley system that hung the well bucket.

And in silhouette, he could see a small figure clinging to the edge of the roof. His heart contracted. _Ara_. As he looked, he was able to pluck a sound from the dull roaring from above; a child’s sobbing screams of horror and grief, as another figure, taller, older – Jae-gyu, he supposed - desperately held her, pulled her back from the edge.

“ _So-min!_ ” she screamed. “So-min, no, no, no… _So-min!_ ”

He blinked through the haze of tears, so startled he would have let go of the rope, but for the force keeping his hand clamped shut.

_So-min...do you see now?_

A suspicion caught like a spark in the back of his mind, but he immediately quashed it; no,it couldn’t be. He couldn’t allow himself to think-

_So-min! It’s me, you idiot! I came to save you!_

He started at the sound - it wasn’t really a sound, and yet it was - for its familiarity. “Why?” he was so shocked that it was the only thing he could think of to say, and he wasn’t even sure if he had said it out loud or only in his head. “Why save me?”

A moment of hesitation, though the force keeping his grip firm on the rope only grew stronger. _Because… because you’re worth saving, even if it’s just for a little while. Because I can’t not. And because… well, because I made a promise_.

“What promise?”

A pause that would have been a deep breath, had he been talking to a living being. _I need you to save Ara for me._

He felt his eyes water, both from the pain – he was certain his wrist was broken, being slowly stretched by his weight, but still he hung on – and because he felt his heart fill up at the not-sound of that voice in his head, though he had not heard it for nearly a decade.

“Joona…” he choked out. He almost laughed. “I missed you!”

A sigh, a gentle flickering in the air around him. _I missed you too, So-min. More than I can ever say, more than I can ever apologise for. And I’ll see you again soon, and there’ll be time, but for now...So-min, I need your help. I need you not to die just yet. Can you do that for me?_

“I...” suddenly So-min wasn’t so sure. “Joona, I don’t have my power anymore!” The words caught in the back of his throat in a sob. “Ah... I’m sorry Joona, I don’t think I can do it. I… how can I save her if I’m not even strong enough to save _myself!_ ”

He felt the grip around his arm on the rope tighten. _Well, it’s lucky I was here to save you then, isn’t it_?

He felt himself nod, despite himself. There were so many things he wanted to ask; _how_ was she here, foremost among them. Where she had been all those years, and what dying was like came in close behind. But he quashed them, feeling her impatience – he could feel the presence of her spirit now, he found, and _oh, was this what it was like to truly communicate with the spirits, to feel their presence in the living world and not be harmed by it?_ Even Ki-nam had never achieved that much – and feeling his own love expand in his chest. Love for Joona, dear Joona who had come back to him a little early, even though he would see her again in the heavens soon, who defied all to save him. Love for Ara, who was waiting for him above, already grieving him, too young. Love for Jae-gyu who was probably feeling the same but doing her best to keep Ara safe, love for In-na whom he would surely never see again in this world.

It was enough to make him drag himself tighten his grip on the rope, despite his broken wrist. He felt her there beside him, her spirit close against his, and, he realised, she was taking his pain away; he could feel it ebbing a little with every ghostly touch. It gave him the strength to grasp at the rope with his other hand, a little higher. To pull himself up a short way. To unlock the fingers of his first hand – which had begun to turn a blue-purple, he noticed, but didn’t care, didn’t feel the pain yet – and clasp it above the second hand. Slowly, a little way each time, he was climbing the rope with only his hands, his feet reaching forward to walk up the wall as he got a little higher, pressing his back up against the opposite side of the well.

He had no sense of time, climbing like that; he could have been down there for days or years, for all he could tell. Yet when he finally – finally – pulled himself up and out of the well, collapsing in pain and exhaustion, tasting blood at the back of his throat – he groaned, the world spinning around him, but he felt her there beside him still and raised his head. He smiled, then; he could see her now, a very faint outline. She looked older than he had ever seen her, but so familiar it made his heart ache with it all over again.

But glad though he was to see her, he felt his heart sink at what he saw behind her, and all around; the steps where he lay were recessed down below the level of the walkway, but above the fire burned brighter than ever. The fire had spread all the way around the outer ring of the village now; he could see the lookout post with its tall guard platform aflame, the highest point in the village licked by flame like some great torch.

But more than that, he could see ghosts, and for a long moment he stared, wide-eyed, around the village, as their flickering forms flowed like a wave over all. Tinged green, some were of the form of humans, or approximately so; there was a tall woman in a flowing robe, a man with a long beard tucked into his belt, a little girl who couldn’t be much older than Ara. The last remaining people in the village – those that were not dead in the street, or in the flames, So-min saw in horror – could obviously see them too; they were running in terror, weapons dropped to the ground, exiles and villagers alike.

So-min could see why. Or rather, he could feel it; there was still that pressure that had crushed the air from his lungs and the sense and reason from his mind before and sent him blacking out and falling off the roof. It was more bearable now; he was almost growing used to it, where before he had been caught off guard, and having Joona at his side was giving him strength moment by moment, even if she was only a shade or a spirit. But it was strong, that sense of strangeness; strong enough that even those without a natural connection to the spirits must be able to feel it in this moment.

At least they were running away from the village and its flames. He gritted his teeth, trying not to sob, and not to yield to the compulsion to black out again from the ghostly weight pressing in on his mind; it seemed to be rolling over him in waves. As he always had in times of trouble, So-min looked up at the sky. Up to the roof from is own house, rising high beside the well, did not seem to be aflame yet – protected as it was by a ringed gap in the buildings, through which the main boardwalk circled and across which the fire had not yet spread – he realised that from his low angle, he could no longer see Ara peering over the edge of the roof.

He frowned; he didn’t know if that was good or bad, but he knew suddenly that he had to get up there. He steeled himself, summoning the last of his strength. He looked up at Joona. “How much time do you have?” Somehow, he knew intuitively that a spirit could not stay in the living world in this state for long.

 _Not long… about as much as you have_.

“Then...” his heart ached. “I suppose we had better do what we must.”

She smiled back down at him then, as she had when they were children, and she’d beaten him in some game, or knocked him to the ground at sparring practice. But her smile was not the teasing grin, the carefree joy that they had had then; there was a hint of a grimace to it, and it was a little sad, her form flickering a little around the edges, with worry.

Yet still she extended a hand down to him, to help him to his feet; her hand was semi-transparent, seemingly wrought of pure energy, brought back – perhaps just for this, for this moment - into defiant being by some great force of love, he understood then.

He nodded, dropped his head. “Then we had better hurry and get this done.”

Joona did not answer; she merely smiled, extended her hand to help him to his feet, as though they were young again, and she had beated him at a sparring match, and after this they would go home and see In-na and Jae-gyu and tell them all about it.

So-min sighed. He unclasped his leather bracer with clumsy fingers and and looked at his hand for a moment. The wrist was broken – and the pain made him grit his teeth – but he sighed; there was nothing to be done about it now. And so he held out his other hand; his left, whose wrist was uninjured. For a moment his eyes caught on the scar on the ball of his thumb, where the dagger had sunk deep into his flesh, weeks ago. It was only newly healed; In-na had stitched the wound well, and it had closed over with pink scar tissue, but the scar had not yet turned to silver. Now, surely, it never would.

He closed his fingers over the wound for a moment; he had been fighting to protect Ara then, and so he would continue to do, until he could move no more.

He reached toward Joona’s ghostly hand, and took it.

* * *

 

 

Jae-gyu ran over to the edge of the roof, throwing her arms around Ara to keep her from throwing herself off into the darkness after So-min. A reflexive motion, dragging her back from the edge as the child screamed and sobbed. Jae-gyu stared, wide-eyed and trembling, down over the edge where So-min had fallen; it was too dim, her eyes nightblind from staring at the fire, to see where he had fallen. But even as her vision adjusted she could make out nothing that might be a body - she could see only the black circle of the well, just below. Her heart sank; if he had fallen down there then there was no way that she could get to him, at least not before it was far too late.

Why had he fallen, anyway? She had known his power was leaving him – perhaps it was all gone already – but when he had slipped sideways off the sloped roof, it had not been like when Geon died. No, this had been different, sudden, frightening; So-min’s hands coming up to clamp over his ears, pain and terror in his eyes. It had been, almost, as though he were not looking at what was in front of him, but seeing something that she could not, right before him.  

She was just thinking this when she heard a strangled scream from behind her. Unwilling as she was to leave Ara alone, she whirled about to where Ki-nam had been, scrambling to her feet and hastily holding her spear at guard once more.

But what she saw was not what she had expected. For Ki-nam was not crying out in fury, nor was he attacking her; he had dropped his sword, which had slid down the roof and become caught in the storm gutter, out of reach. He himself had fallen to his knees on the tiles, his head down and clutched between his hands as he screamed, a piteous, agonised sound.

Jae-gyu narrowed her eyes, wondering if this was a trap. But she didn’t think it was; Ki-nam was too proud, too afraid to look weak, to try something like that. And she could have sworn there was something about the sound; it made her think, somehow, of the fear that had flashed across So-min’s face, right before his eyes had rolled back in his head and his body had crumpled sideways and fallen into the darkness.

She frowned, as Ara stood up behind her, slipping her hand into Jae-gyu’s; she gave it what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze, as they both watched Ki-nam’s body shudder and tremble as the cries of pain tore through him, wracking his whole hunched frame.

Jae-gyu pulled Ara gently but firmly to her side, pulling her in close so that she would not have to see. It was a disturbing sight; not least because Jae-gyu could feel, somewhere in her heart, a stirring of pity for her brother, as he suffered and cried out.

She quashed it immediately; she had trusted and pitied Ki-nam too easily before, and it had cost her and those she loved dearly. Warily, she stepped forward, away from Ara.

Even as she did, Ki-nam stopped crying out, and his head darted upwards to meet her gaze. His eyes were still wide and bloodshot, fearful, his face haggard and drained of colour.

And, just as So-min had, he did not seem to see her when he looked at her, but rather something else; he was looking up in fear, his eyes flicking from side to side as he got warily to his feet. His mouth was moving as though he was speaking words, but she couldn’t make them out, until she could; a choked, husky whisper, suffused with horror. “ _What has she done?_ ”

“Who?” barked Jae-gyu, pointing her spear at him. “What has who done?”

But Ki-nam didn’t answer, or perhaps couldn’t; his eyes were flashing faster all around him now, as though surrounded by a great swarm of insects perhaps. She herself could see nothing; yet, she realised, she could _feel_ something now, a pressing strangeness, like the crackle in the air before a storm. It made the small hairs stand up at the back of her neck, and a moment later she flinched; she could have sworn she felt something brush past the back of her hand.

It must have showed on her face, for Ki-nam glanced up at her. “You… you feel it too!” there was a mixture of anger, triumph and desperation in his voice. “They are coming… they are returning to the living world… they won’t just come for me, you know. They’ll come for you too, and all you hold dear...”

“ _Who_ -”

But she broke off before she could finish her sentence. Spectral figures, rippling and amorphous, were appearing all around, taking form out of the dimness. Jae-gyu could see them, and knew – without quite knowing how – that they were connected to the sensation in the air, unlike any she had felt before. Disturbed, she looked around her; they were _everywhere_ , throughout the village, and more were coming all the while.

She lunged forward, grasping Ki-nam by the front of the tunic. “What is this?” she demanded, through gritted teeth. “What did you _do_?”

Finally he met her eye; his gaze was a little clearer now, but still frighteningly intense, unblinking. “I didn’t do this” he whispered, both afraid and awed. “….In-na did. Somehow...”

Jae-gyu was so stunned at the mention of In-na’s name that she dropped Ki-nam back to his knees. “What? How could In-na...” but again, she broke off, as she felt another presence, just behind her.

It felt so familiar she felt tears come to her eyes, her heart swelling with love; she almost didn’t dare turn around, in case she was wrong. _If she didn’t look, she could still hope…_

 _...But if she didn’t look, she would also never know_. Steeling herself – aware that Ki-nam was watching her intently – she turned her head.

Her eyes met those of a familiar face, limned in strange, ever-shifting green. Tears spilled soundlessly from her eyes, and her spear dropped from her limp hand to fall at her feet.

Jae-gyu reached forward despite herself, despite everything that told her not to, that told her to be afraid. “G-Geon!” she found herself sobbing. He looked just like the last time she had seen him; he hadn’t aged a day in the eighteen years since she had last seen him. “You’re…here...” she remembered then what Ki-nam had said, and laughed slightly, as he smiled back at her. It felt right now, that it had been In-na; if anyone could bring him back to her, it was surely In-na, who had always found a way to do what Jae-gyu could not. She reached out, scared for a moment to touch him, afraid he would simply disappear.

He did not; but when she laid a hand on his arm she frowned, as it went right through with a mere ripple of the undefinable stuff of which he was outlined beside her. “You...” she frowned, wary again suddenly. “Are you really here? Or are you just in my head?”

He was speaking, replying, but she could not hear the words coming from his mouth, Jae-gyu realised with a pang. She rounded on Ki-nam. “What’s he saying?”

Ki-nam all but ignored her question; he was eyeing Geon suspiciously, then looking back at Jae-gyu. “You can see them, but not hear their voices...” he said, staring down at the tiles below his feet. “But what does it mean…?”

“Please...” said Jae-gyu through gritted teeth, hating the taste of the word in her mouth. She looked back to Geon, who was speaking words she could not hear, reaching out his hand to her. She took it, but again her own hand passed through. “Please!” she said to Ki-nam, desperation suddenly rising within her, anger following close behind. “I _know_ you can hear him… _please_... our brother - ”

He looked up at her, and he looked up at Geon. He looked between them. And he opened his mouth as though about to speak.

But no words came. Jae-gyu saw him flinch, a convulsive motion that spoke of agony once again as the ghosts grew thicker, pressing in and rustling. Again, Ki-nam clutched his head, tugging at his hair. “No...” he was whispering, as the ghosts seemed to press closer all around. “No, don’t...” he raised his head, slowly, as though afraid to. His gaze was fixed to the other side of Geon, and, Jae-gyu realised, there were tears on his face now too. They reflected the light of the moon, as the wind changed and the clouds of smoke drew apart for a moment above. “ _You!_ ”

Jae-gyu turned, and at the same time she heard Ara behind her, crying out in joy, sudden and incongruous and strange after so many tears, jarring almost after so much pain and suffering.

So-min was pulling himself up over the edge of the roof, laborious and breathing hard. Behind him was a bright shape; a tall woman with a spear, and Jae-gyu recognised her immediately. Even if she hadn’t known it was Joona, she could feel Geon beside her, his spirit rippling with answering joy and pride at the sight of his daughter, and the successor and nephew he had never had the chance to raise as a son.

So-min climbed up onto the eave, and wiped away the trickle of blood running down into his eye with the back of his sleeve, with Joona behind him. Her spirit lit up brilliantly when she saw Ara, and the girl raised a hand up to meet hers, entranced and speechless with joy. It was a sight that made Jae-gyu’s heart soar with triumph and joy and love, and all the more so because she knew that In-na had been the cause of this; she didn’t know how or why but she knew that In-na was alive, and free, and though she wasn’t here herself she had brought the remains of their little family together again, if only for a little while.

But a moment later, her joy turned to fear once more when she caught sight of Ki-nam; he was ashen pale, fury coursing through his veins. “You... _why are you still alive_?” he rasped, eyes burning with twisted anger as he stared fixedly at So-min. Tears were running down his face.

So-min gritted his teeth. “I nearly died” he said. “But I was saved. I have to protect Ara, you see...”

“No!” cried out Ki-nam. “It’s not possible… the spirits… the gods...”

So-min was swaying a little on his feet, Jae-gyu saw, but he stood firm, looking Ki-nam in the eye. “I don’t fear the dead. Not anymore. I’m… not like you.”

Ki-nam had gritted his teeth. “What right have you!” he shouted. “What right have you to live, to be free of the...the burden of the spirits, while I...”

But again, he froze, broke off. At the same time, Jae-gyu felt Geon’s spirit beside her grow tense and shift; both Ki-nam and So-min were staring at the same point. Jae-gyu followed their gaze there.

She let out a quiet gasp, recognising another familiar spirit. “….Father?”

Yes, it was him; dressed still in his priest’s robes – as though he were off to tend the shrine as he always had done, the way she always remembered him best – standing in front of his three children, looking between them, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Father!” said Ki-nam, pushing forwards. “I… I tried… I tried to avenge your death! All these years...” he reached out, grasped at their father’s hand, and flinched again as Garam did not raise his own ghostly hand to meet it. Garam was shaking his head, anguish in his face. To Ki-nam, he was speaking words that Jae-gyu couldn’t hear, but could understand, almost, by the look on Ki-nam’s face.

“ _No!_ No, it can’t be...it _was_ the fault of the line of the dragon’s blood that you died! They were looking for _him_ when they killed you!” he pointed wildly at Geon, but again, Garam shook his head, sorrowful.

“No!” shouted Ki-nam. “The gods...”

Jae-gyu saw now; she understood. “Father served the gods, and listened to them” she said to Ki-nam. “You could hear their voices, but you never listened. You twisted your prophecies into a rope to bind others, using them only to fuel your own hatred!”

She looked up apprehensively at their father, seeing him give her a solemn nod, an acknowledging bow of his head. The ghosts were beginning to fade now, she realised. She felt tears on her face; it was almost worse to see them again for such a brief time, like ripping open an old wound. “You were wrong!” she hurled back at Ki-nam. “You used yourself up on hate, and everything you did was for nothing! You’re the reason father remained as a restless spirit! He could never have peace, because of _you_ and what you did in his name!”

Ki-nam, in that moment, did not answer; he seemed quite without words, caught between his brother and father’s fading ghosts, Jae-gyu and So-min. He looked like a hunted animal, hurt and cornered, wild eyed. “No!” he growled, his eyes hardening as the sorrowful spirits faded away once more. “No, no, no...”

“Your hatred for the dragons destroyed you!” she shouted. Geon’s hand on her arm was fading, and the frustrated rage she felt only became more desperate with it. “And now you’ve let it destroy the village too!”

Ki-nam’s face was twisted into an animalistic snarl, a fearful thing. Beside her, So-min was holding Ara, who was trembling.

“For nothing?” Ki-nam’s voice had dropped, low and dangerous, and he was shaking with fervour now. “For nothing? No.” He raised his voice, in a horrible laugh. “No! It won’t be for nothing! You say I only want revenge… well, look around, sister...” he gestured around the rooftop, at the burning and the destruction, the fading spirits, the gouts of smoke that were now billowing into the air. “You think there is anything left to save here? Yes! The spirits of the dragons of the past – the spirits of this village – hurt me, all my life, they followed in my footsteps, never letting me be free! Yes, I wanted revenge!” he shouted his confession at the sky, the red glare of firelight from the flame consuming the guard tower mingling with the silver moonlight, dancing in his eyes and on the tears on his cheeks. “And if there’s nothing left of me but revenge, then by the gods, I will _take_ it!”

And quick as that, quicker than Jae-gyu could lunge forward and stop him, he was dropping to the ground beside him, taking up Jae-gyu’s spear where it ad fallen to the tiles. Her eyes darted to him as he charged forward with it, eyes fixed on So-min, and, she realised with horror, on Ara; perhaps even Ki-nam did not know what he was trying to do in that moment she thought, other than _hurt_ , a whole lifetime’s worth of pain that must be repaid. He had let his hatred consume him, and if there had been anything left to save of him, it had vanished permanently into the roiling darkness with the spirit of their father, leaving the living alone again, alone with their anger and their suffering.

Time seemed to slow down, as the firelight glinted off the blade of her spear in Ki-nam’s hand.

And in that moment, that long stretched out instant, Jae-gyu did not pause to think. She simply moved, guided by no force but desperation – for she herself had never been one to be guided by gods or spirits, only the very human heart that beat in her chest – and then she was throwing herself forward. Her own dagger had been lost in the fight, and so as she flung herself in front of So-min she whipped her arm across him to grasp the knife in the leather sheath at his hip – the dagger had once been In-na’s, she vaguely remembered – and to draw it, and to turn to face her brother with it outstretched in a defiant forward thrust, even as she protected So-min and Ara with her own body.

And for a moment – just a moment – time seemed to freeze for Ki-nam and Jae-gyu, brother and sister, his rage unleashed in a chaotic torrent against a sudden, surprising tranquility and utter sense of calm and purpose that almost surprised Jae-gyu herself. Suddenly, she found, she knew just the trajectory that he and his blade would take, but she also knew that if she extended her arm just a little, then she could reach him before it met its target.

After all, there was no sense in fearing the inevitable. There was one way that she could protect them, and, she knew, she would do it.

The moment ended in a cacophony of roaring in Jae-gyu’s mind, the world catching up with the two of them. She was aware that she herself was screaming in anger, as the dagger plunged deep into Ki-nam’s heart. But he didn’t cry out anymore; he merely let out a soft, strangled gasp, his hands going up to grasp the haft even as she pulled it out and blood began to spurt, soaking them both in vital red. His eyes looked up and met hers, and in that moment brother and sister stared at each other in shock, in sudden knowledge that now, _now_ , there truly was no going back.

Then he was collapsing to his knees, sliding sideways down the tiles and down to the eave, where he fell sideways off the roof and down into the empty blackness, where the fire had not yet encroached.

Jae-gyu dropped the knife with a clatter, breathing out.

From behind her, she heard Ara scream, and So-min gasp, a brittle sound of horror and grief. “Jae-gyu...you’re...”

She didn’t hear the rest of his words, for then came the blinding pain, the agony that felt like to tear her apart, as she raised her hands to her abdomen; they came away bloody, slippery with scarlet that was both her brother’s and her own, mingling together. But more her own, she knew, as she gritted her teeth, her knees giving way.

Her own blood, for her own spear was impaling her through the stomach, pushed right through her to emerge from her back with the force of Ki-nam’s charge; she had pushed herself onto it, the price of ridding the living world of him, of saving So-min and Ara.

She would pay that price again, Jae-gyu thought as she slipped to her knees on the tiled roof of the house, dimly aware of So-min grasping her, keeping her from falling, cradling her in his arms as Ara sobbed. She would pay it again, and over and over until the world would stop hurting the dragons and those that loved them.

 _In-na_... she thought, as clouds of smoke scudded overhead, blocking out the moon once more. The only light was that of the fire now; she could see it flare higher on the tower, though her vision was beginning to tunnel as her blood spilled from the wound. _Forgive me, In-na. I know I said that I would live, and for you I would have... but instead I saved them, because I had to. I hope you’re able to heal again, though I can’t this time. When I see Geon, I’ll tell him about how much you loved him, and how you loved me too, and saved me every time. He’ll like that._

She gritted her teeth, let out a small whimper as the blade shifted where it pierced her; So-min had not drawn it out, but cradled her in his arms there on the rooftop, heedless of the fire behind and all around as he held her hand as though he could physically hold her in the living world.

She could hear his voice, saying her name, and she could see the tears falling freely onto her face, as Ara clung to his arm. But she could not feel the tears falling on her face. _Go_ , she wanted to say, but she couldn’t quite hear her own voice. _Go, and be free while you still can_...

The last thing she saw was the red glow of fire, blurring with tears, before her vision went dark and she knew no more.


	25. With final breaths

So-min sat on the tiled roof and cradled Jae-gyu’s body in his arms, stunned and blank-eyed as he struggled to understand the moment that had just passed. It had all been so fast; one moment, Ki-nam’s eyes had been full of rage and the light of the fire glinting off the sharp edge of the spear in his hand. And then Jae-gyu, a fierce, precise blur of motion, had been throwing herself in front of him, drawing So-min’s own knife in one fluid motion. Stabbing it into Ki-nam’s heart and impaling herself on her own blade in her brother’s hand, taking him down with her in one terrible moment of fate from which there was no returning.

Saving So-min himself, and Ara too. Jae-gyu must have known that that act would be her last. So-min had no doubt about that, for there had been too much deliberate precision, too much calculation in her motion, for him to believe she had not. And as he had watched the life go out of her eyes, he had known that she had understood that, that she had given them a chance, and with that he felt love and regret and sorrow expand in his chest, and the pain of it was unbearable.

 _She had given him a chance_. He was dying, and Jae-gyu knew it; she though, she could have come out of this alive. She could have seen In-na again in the living world. But now she never would. She had given So-min and Ara a chance, if only they were to reach out and take it.

Yet still So-min did not move. He felt paralysed, though this time not by the loss of his power; he felt as though something had disconnected his mind from his body, sitting still and silent like a broken doll some child had tossed away.

He was holding Jae-gyu’s body in his arms, totally still. At some point he felt himself raise his hand to brush her eyes closed - the sight of them reflecting the light of the flames tugged too painfully at his heart - but even that motion did not feel like him, as though it were someone else moving his body, now at the last.

“So-min!”

The voice seemed to come from far away. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, managing to unclasp his locked fingers from Jae-gyu’s arm to pinch the bridge of his nose hard - stars were dancing across his field of view, a headache starting. The light of the fire all around was too bright, it was making him nightblind, and the crackling and roaring had reached a peak, suddenly loud and overwhelming; or perhaps that was simply the cacophony inside his own head.

“ _So-min!_ ”

He blinked several times, realising there were tears on his face, though he was not aware of crying. Slowly, he turned to Ara, who was tugging insistently on his sleeve, eyes wide and fearful as she glanced up behind him. “The tower!”

He frowned, turning around in place; light caught his eye, brilliant orange, fearful heat rolling off it as it belched smoke up into the night sky. He could hear Ara crying out in alarm just behind him, but the sound was almost drowned out by a deafening creaking and grinding of failing wooden beams, hissing and whistling as they burned. He caught his breath, his arms going involuntarily limp, finally letting go their grip on Jae-gyu’s body. “We have to-”

But So-min got no further, for suddenly the flaming tower was flaring up towards the sky and _tilting_ , then falling, falling closer until the world was filled with fire, a roaring inferno above, and then the world was crashing down all about him once more in a maelstrom of broken pieces and blinding light.

* * *

 

When Zeno first saw the red glow coming over the hill, he thought for just a moment that it must be dawn breaking. But only for a moment; the bright, high moon told him the night had hours left before the morning, and the glow was in the wrong place on the horizon.

That was about when he saw the column of smoke, rising over the hill. He felt fear light within him then; an old fear, a well worn one, many times proven justified, no less acute than any knife in his chest. _Had he come too late?_

Zeno quickened his pace as he crested the rise. There the trees ended and before him opened up the gently sloping green valley in which the village sat, the path winding down amongst the terraces. He stuck to the edge of the woods; there was fire coming from somewhere by their edge too, and he could see the remains of what might have been a camp, and hear people’s voices coming from there, a hubbub of cries of pain and anger. The sounds of fear and grief.

 _And the village…the village was aflame, its guard tower all alight like a rush taper. A signal in the sky, and he was already late to answer it_ …

He reached out with his sense of the other dragons, and when he did he drew in a sharp breath in shock.

For the two green lights - one bright and defiant and vital, the other fading, clinging to life - were right in the centre of the burning village, even as its people - _or perhaps their attackers?_ Zeno was too far away to tell - scrambled to safety on higher ground, trampling through the rice fields and their early crop in their haste and fear.

_Why had they left the dragons behind? Did Shuten’s village no longer care for his descendants enough to save them? Or was there some other reason that they had stayed behind?_

He climbed up into the branches of a tree with dread, trying to get a better look at the people winding their way up the path in twos and threes. Some were being carried…were they wounded? Or dead? It wasn’t clear either, from this distance, what colour the people’s hair was. If it was green, he wanted to trust them, but even that much he couldn’t make out yet. As he had many times before, he wished he had the all-seeing eyes of Seiryuu.

He hadn’t that particular power though. And so he slipped down from his tree, keeping low and out of sight of the road as best he could.

Coming closer brought no reassurance; the fire, he saw now, was around the outer edge of the village, but had not spread to the centre, which was where the house had been, he remembered. Where he had eaten a meal with the older Ryokuryuu and the younger, that pleasant day not so long ago.

And sure enough, that was where he felt their presences. But that meant nothing if he could not find a way through the flames, to bring the two of them to safety if flying was no longer an option.

He was just thinking this when he saw something that made he gasp in horror once more; the guard tower, high and looming over all, had begun to tilt as the burning wood gave way, belching smoke and sparks into the air as it was consumed. Zeno felt time slow down as he watched it fall, collapsing into the centre of the village, where before the fire had not yet spread.

Right over where he felt the glow of the two dragons who shared his blood.

Zeno looked down; his bare legs still sparkled with a light sheen of residual golden scales, but he picked up a rock and struck his ankles again, and again and again, wincing at the pain and biting down on his lip to stifle his cries - for the pain never got easier - until they were armoured to the knee, bright and strong.

Strong enough for now. Strong enough to do what he needed to do.

Or so he hoped.

* * *

 

Ara trembled as she crouched on the edge of the roof, the remaining tiles hot under the palms of her splayed hands. She was desperately trying to think what to do next, but somehow ideas wouldn’t come; her mind was a wild tangle of fear, a knot she couldn’t begin to try to undo. She gritted her teeth together, biting back a sob as she tried to look around her. The fallen tower had dealt the house a glancing blow, striking just where So-min and Ara had been sitting, So-min cradling Jae-gyu’s body; he had let go in shock, and that was what had saved him.

She had still been holding onto his arm, and she had braced her dragon leg against the gable of the roof, and held on for both their lives as the tower had fallen to the side in an explosion of sparks and brittle burnt wood. It had broken off a large corner section of the roof, exactly where they had been a moment before. It had fallen onto Jae-gyu’s body too, sending her with it as it crashed through the house, crashing to the ground a long moment later in a great funeral pyre like the ones in the stories of heroes, flaring high up into the heavens in a wall of flame, before subsiding down to burn hungrily over the wreckage below.

Ara had screamed, and So-min had screamed, and they had clung on, and clung on harder as the tiles around them began to slip into the great burning hole in the roof. And she had screamed as she felt So-min begin to slip too; she had to hold him, but she wasn’t strong enough. His weight was too much and she cried even as his arm slipped from her grasp, leaving her clinging to the roof all alone as fire danced all around, like a stormy sea threatening to overwhelm a small boat in the great emptiness of the open ocean.

When the dust and the cloud of smoke had cleared, Ara opened her watering eyes to see a fearful sight. The tower’s fall had exposed a corner of the loft room, and the flames were greedily devouring the wreckage of the rafters, or Ara’s bed covers and the small number of possessions she had. But that wasn’t what made her gasp; for she saw now that So-min had fallen half into the gap, cradled precariously in a mass of broken wood; it was clear that he could slip and fall into the flames below at any moment. But even the wood around him was partly aflame, and he was close to being burned by the flames; she screamed, as she saw the fire creep closer, too near to then the trailing edge of his tunic. She saw him stir at that; it brought a little relief - at least he was alive - but still she had no idea what to do.

She tried to think of what the Ryokuryuu in her stories would do - the stories her mother had told her, from her special, treasured book with its pictures and its fantastical tales. He was her own family, wasn’t he? His blood ran through her now, strongest of all his descendants. Ara had thought, sometimes when she had jumped high into the sky without fear, or when her mother or So-min had taught her things, that one day she might be strong like that. That she could really be like that long-ago Ryokuryuu, and protect the people she loved, save them from getting hurt.

This would be the time, she knew. If she knew anything of those stories, it was the the four dragon warriors always arrived just in time to save the day; that was how they went, and Ara believed that with all her heart.

 _This should be the time_ ; she was stronger than she had ever been, now, the full power of the dragon coursing through her blood. Yet in this moment, she felt small and weak and powerless as she had ever felt in her life.

She wiped the tears from her face angrily with the back of her sleeve. She forced herself to look back at So-min, from where Jae-gyu’s body had fallen down with the tower, into the blackness below which was now roaring and crackling with orange flame, licking hungrily at the edge of the house. Jae-gyu would understand, Ara knew. She knew that Jae-gyu would want her to save So-min. She had to keep her mind on that.

She had to get down to him, she knew. If she could do that, then she could perhaps lift him - if she was strong enough - and then jump them both to safety. She wouldn’t have been able to do that before, but now she felt…well, _stronger_. She had the power now, and So-min was weak because he had lost it. So really, she had no choice but to try to save him.

And so she inched her way along the broken edge of the roof, trying to find a way down. Heat and smoke roiled upwards from the fire consuming the bed covers, making her eyes smart and water, her throat burn with it.

But she ignored it resolutely, carefully picking her way to the edge of a smashed rafter, dislodging several more tiles as she did; they fell down dizzyingly, into the fire below in flurries of sparks that made Ara wince, her fingers nearly slipping on the splintered wood. Even as she did, So-min slipped down a little further, and would have fallen, had she not reacted quickly enough; she reached out with her dragon leg, growing it to twice its size and stamping on the edge of his tunic, pinning him there to the broken boards that had been the floor of her room.

Somehow, amid all this, she felt a spark of exhilaration, delight in how effortless using her power had been; she could fly higher than ever now, and something deep in her, something that came from her dragon’s blood, was calling her to leap joyfully into the sky. To save herself, to leave So-min behind; _after all, he had lost his power_ … _he was nothing more than an ordinary human now,_ something inside her that was not quite _her_ and yet not quite _not_ her seemed to say. _She was the one that must live on, she must carry on the dragon’s blood, for she was the only one left_.

The voice may have come from her, but it frightened Ara worse than anything else about all of this. Gritting her teeth together she forced it out of her head; likewise the urge to cry, the wish to be held close, as her mother had done, and told it was all going to be alright.

There wasn’t time for that now, and there was no one left… no one at all. But maybe she could still help So-min, protect him as he had protected her. She wasn’t just an ordinary child, after all. She was the best - the only - chance he had.

Ara found it easy then to reach down with her dragon leg and push So-min sideways onto the board; still close to the edge, but not about to fall. Then she took a breath, and lowered herself down too. Fitting herself between the fallen, smoldering beams was hard, and she still felt choked with fear, but there was a sort of peace there too; no adult would have been able to fit through that gap to reach So-min, and so, she was sure now, it had to be her. No one else could save him.

A moment later she was kneeling beside him, shaking his shoulder, and at once her spark of hope was replaced once more with sick dread; he had been wounded before, but now he looked worse; the wound on his head had opened up again, and blood was running down his face from there and from a bleeding nose, mingling with sweat and black soot. But under it his face was chalky white, eyes darting under his closed lids. She almost grasped his hand in hers, but hastily put it down in case it hurt him; his wrist was beginning to swell too, bruised a terrible mottled purple; she had not noticed before.

“So-min!” She shook his shoulder; he was so still, she felt terror come once more. She shook him harder. “So-min, wake up So-min! Please wake up!”

For a while, it was no good; she was choking out the words through her sobs, shaking him as the fire inched closer at their backs. He was breathing, hard and laboured, but his eyes were closed. But as she watched he opened his mouth, making a small sound of pain.

“So-min!” she tugged desperately at his arm. “We have to… the fire…”

His eyes opened a crack, wild and unfocused for a moment before they caught on her face. “A…Ara…” he blinked, and grimaced as pain seemed to go through him. “The… the fire… we have to… get out…”

“I know!” she said; she almost laughed, hysterical and painful. “Let’s go! Come on, So-min, we - ”

“No!” he grasped her hand with his unbroken one, then let go, his hand going to his pocket, struggling as though to try to get something out. “N-No, not… not me… you…”

Her eyes widened. “No! I said I’d save you! And I will!” She was angry, as much as anything; the stories never told of things like this. It occurred to her then that maybe that was because there was no one to tell them. The thought only made her more insistent. “I promised I’d do it, and I will!”

He stopped scrabbling at his pocket, eyes fixing on her in desperation. “A…Ara, _please_ \- ”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. For from the hole in the roof and the wall that led to the sky above - that led to freedom - came another great creaking, the roof shedding several more tiles. As they fell, a little more of it collapsed, and she was just able to pull So-min away from the edge in time, into the relative shelter of what was left of her bedroom. But, she realised with wide eyes, the way out was blocked; the whole window was gone, and the hole where it had been was covered in burning debris. She couldn’t even see the sky anymore, and the whole room was beginning to fill with smoke, lit by the orange glow by the hungry flames. If they were to get out of this, it wouldn’t be that way.

Ara felt panic crawl up over her; she had always found safety in the skies. But at the same time she realised something else; the trapdoor that led down from the loft room was still there. She dragged So-min over to it, hooked her foot under the ring and pulled it open. Then she wrapped her arms around So-min’s chest and tugged with all her might. He was heavy, and hard for her to move across the floor as she stepped onto the ladder down. That would be the difficult part, she knew; but she could feel cooler, outside air coming from somewhere, and that meant escape.

So-min cried out a little in pain as she tried to pull him towards the trapdoor; he was too heavy, and, she realised with a pang, she was hurting him.

“So-min!” she cried out. Her throat was beginning to burn from the smoke. “I’m… I’m sorry, b-but you have to try and - ah!”

She cried out as above them there was a booming creak, from the rafters. She stared upwards, wide-eyed, even as she saw the flames running across the upper rafters from her bed, which had caught fire and was burning brilliantly. “So-min, I think… the roof…!”

But even as said the words, there was an even greater creaking sound, and the roof was slowly collapsing in the direction of the missing section. Lowering down as it gave way inch by inch, the sound of tiles cascading down outside almost deafening.

Several things happened then, as Ara stared up at the descending roof in frozen terror. Beside her, she heard a grunted yell of determination and anger, and then So-min was raising himself up, rolling over her to shield her from the falling roof with his body, with all the strength left in him. But even as he did so, he was rolling them both over the trapdoor, and there was no floor beneath them as they fell through. Ara fell tangled up in So-min’s arms, and he held her all the way down as above them the roof collapsed onto what was left of the loft room, sending a gout of smoke down to the level where they now lay.

Ara was bruised and winded by the fall, but not hurt. She had fallen half on top of So-min’s chest; all the way down, he had been shielding her from the worst of it.

So-min, on the other hand, was even worse off than he had been before. Though she could feel his heartbeat where she lay for just a moment with her head against his chest, it was weak, and his breathing was even more ragged than it had been. Also, he wasn’t moving, save for his face, which was twisted up in pain, hair sticking to his forehead with blood.

Ara pushed it back, stood up with gritted teeth. They were in the hallway below the loft room; that meant they just had to make it along the corridor, past Jae-gyu and In-na’s room and the empty bedroom, down two sets of stairs past the passage to the kitchen and the cellar, and then through the entrance-room and out of the door. From there, she could fly into the sky.

She did not let herself think any further than that, even as she tugged So-min by the sleeve and the collar, along the hallway. She couldn’t think of the fact that she probably couldn’t lift So-min onto her back, that she couldn’t fly into the air with him. For all her dragon’s power, she was just too small to keep a grip on him with her arms, even if her leg was doing all the work. But she mustn’t think of that now, she knew, or she wouldn’t be able to continue.

With effort, Ara dragged So-min as far as the stairs. It had only been a little time, perhaps, but to her it felt like an age; they trapdoor was still open, and burning debris rained down onto the floor, and was already catching the matting alight at the other end of the corridor. Outside the window, she could see only flame, where the tower had fallen beside the house. Its fire must be spreading on the outside, in that direction. She didn’t want to try to escape that way, if she could help it, which meant she was right; the only way to go was down, and hope for a way out.

She dragged So-min past the window, but even as she did there came a creaking sound, and a loud popping as the shutters warped in the heat from the fire outside. Ara threw herself out of the way, trying to drag So-min with her, but she was too late; a moment later, the heavy shutter had fallen out of its frame completely, across So-min, throwing a tongue of flame into the hallway with it. Ara screamed, trying to push it off him, and then screamed again as the wood - weakened by the heat, burning inside and out - burned her palms, searing her skin with more pain than she had ever felt before, pain that made her want to curl up around her hands and cry until it went away.

But she couldn’t, she knew. With a yell of anger, she kicked fiercely at the burning wood covering So-min, sending it flying easily away. Then she was off again, trying her best to ignore the pain in her palms, biting her lip to keep the tears away until she reached the relative cool, dark safety of the stairs, in the opposite corner of the house from the fire outside.

Still, if the stairs were a little easier for her, but she knew that they hurt So-min more, with each bump down each step. The whole house was filling with smoke, and Ara coughed until her chest ached. But, she realised, the smoke was thinner closer to the ground, and so she crawled on her hands and knees as she had when she had played hiding games with her mother in the forest near their camps, when she had been younger. She wondered, briefly, if her mother had played those games with So-min, in this very house.

She had little time for speculation though, as a moment later she heard - or felt, just as much - another great rumbling crash. Where had that come from? For a moment she glanced back, up the stairs again, but above all she saw was a glow of firelight and smoke lit from within, coming from the way through to the upper floor. Nowhere in the house would be safe for long; she had to hurry.

She turned her eyes back downwards, and pressed on, dragged So-min behind her down the stairs. At long last, they came to the entrance room. The windows were shuttered here too, but through the cracks Ara could see that the world outside blazed with fire, where the tower had fallen beside the house. Above though, she could hear the ferocious groaning and roaring of the upper floors caught ablaze. She balled her hands into small, tight fists in the fabric of So-min’s tunic. The burnt, blistered skin of her palms felt as though it was burning still, tearing at her with pain, but she didn’t allow herself to stop tugging So-min towards the door, trying to ignore his weak whimpers of pain. This was how she would save him. Even though it might not be safe, it must be safer outside than in here. It had to be. She unclenched her fists with a wince, laying her hands on the door, and gave it a tentative push.

Nothing happened.

Ara gasped, fear rippling through her once more. No, it couldn’t be locked in…she remembered, So-min had unlocked it from outside, but she had always simply been able to get out as she pleased. Maybe there was something heavy that had fallen against it, outside? She hammered her fists against it, then her shoulder, but to no avail, sobbing in pure panic as the glow of flame illuminated the way up to the next floor, smoke flooding out of the doorway to the stairs. She felt lightheaded with fear, or from the smoke she’d breathed. Or both. And now she was trapped here, even after she’d come so far. _No way forward, and no way back_.

But no… there was something that she could do here; in her panic, Ara had almost forgotten her new strength. Again, she almost laughed as she walked a little way back from the door; how often had she asked So-min if she could do this?

Ara wiped the way her tears with a savage grimace and took a running leap. As she did she let out a cry of fear and defiance, her small, emerald scaled foot colliding with the heavy, solid wooden door. The sound of metal screaming as the lock easily broke, wood splintering as the door exploded out of its frame to fly at least thirty feet away, scattering the smoldering wreckage that had been blocking it. As she did so the debris caught light with the wind, soaring into the air in all directions in a bright sunburst of light, fire dancing all around her and smoke pouring out of the broken doorway.

Which was why Ara almost didn’t see the figure standing up in front of her, raising themself up from the ground where her kick had surely knocked them back. A slight figure, and at first she narrowed her tear-filled eyes then stared in horror, thinking that this person was limned with fire, burning from head to foot.

But a moment later, she saw that it wasn’t so; instead, the figure was covered with scales all over, bright as polished bronze in the light of the flames. And then they were rushing to kneel before her, to take her by the shoulders, saying words she could barely make out.

And in that moment, Ara recognised their face. A kind, gentle face, despite the strange scales covering it. Warm summer blue eyes, a look that she recognised from a moment when she had most needed a friend, and he had been there. He had helped her find So-min, and she had never forgotten that, had never forgotten the golden warmth that radiated from him even when he was like this - whatever _this_ was, but for the moment she did not care - had never forgotten the comfort it had brought her just to be near him. It made her sob with relief, dizzy with it, her pain forgotten for just a moment.

“Zeno!”

“Ryokuryuu!” Zeno had fallen to his knees in front of her, pulling her close to his chest in a tight hug. His scales hurt a bit; they burned to the touch like a pan left too long over a fire, and she winced and drew away.

His eyes widened, his words coming too fast, falling over each other. “Oh! No! Zeno is sorry… little Ryokuryuu, Zeno is so sorry… Zeno should have come sooner… Zeno will take Ryokuryuu far away, and - ”

But he broke off as Ara shook her head. “So-min!” she gestured behind her, to where So-min lay. “He’s alive! Please, Z-Zeno…ah…” she broke into weak coughing, as more smoke gushed down the stairs from behind her, enveloping them for a moment. When it had thinned a little, she looked up at him. She was struggling to keep focused now, but she forced herself to stare up at Zeno; she had to make him understand. “So-min’s alive! Please… help him!”

Zeno stared at So-min, then at her for a moment. Then he nodded, clasping her hand in his. “Zeno will.”

Ara nodded, swayed on her feet, and felt her vision go darker at the edges. A moment later, she was collapsing in Zeno’s arms, right there on the doorstep with the fire burning all around.

* * *

 

Hours later, Zeno sat cross-legged at the bottom of the slope of a grassy hill, as the sun rose and all was quiet at last. He couldn’t see the village anymore - or what remained of it - from the next valley over, but he was still close enough to see the smoke rising in the still morning, a tall column lit a bloody red by the sun that was breaking over the horizon. A cruel wound in an otherwise peaceful dawn sky.

Beside him lay Ara, wrapped up in the charred remains of Zeno’s cloak as a blanket, so that she would not catch a chill in the morning dew as she slept. Zeno had worried for her at first when she had fallen unconscious, but she had immediately started breathing easier in the fresh morning air. Her hands were burned badly, but apart from that, she had suffered only some bruises and scratches, as far as Zeno could tell. He had cleaned her palms and wrapped them in strips of cloth torn from his scarf, and it would do for now. At some point, she had slipped into a deep dreamless sleep, in the way that one can only sleep when worn through by sorrow and exhaustion and tears.

And even if he could have woken her, Zeno didn’t have the heart to; it would only hurt her, knowing that she could do nothing for her predecessor, who was breathing his last in Zeno’s cradling embrace even as the light of day began to touch the tops of the distant mountains of the Wind Tribe lands, far off on the horizon.

So-min was alive still, but only barely. He had spoken as little, earlier, had even recognised Zeno at first when he regained consciousness; he had squeezed Zeno’s hand in sudden desperation, made him promise to look after Ara; he was only half conscious, didn’t seem to realise that she was right here beside them. Either way, Zeno made the promise wholeheartedly, and that seemed to comfort So-min, at least a little. He was still afraid, though; Zeno saw it in his eyes, staring up into his or roaming wildly across the lightening sky, felt it in the tight grip of his hand, even now. So-min whispered his fears to Zeno in the morning quiet, as the gentle breeze in the higher air gently carried the smoke from the burning across the delicate pink and blue of the heavens.

Zeno did his best to tell him that all would be well; he didn’t know whether So-min could understand his words, didn’t know if he believed them if he did. Zeno didn’t know if he believed them himself. At least there was one promise he made that he knew he could keep; he promised to stay with So-min, to not leave him until the end, and he would at least do that much. After all, time was the one thing Zeno did not lack.

All the while, guilt tugged at him; he should have been there. Whatever had happened to Shuten’s village, he was sure he could have prevented this, _should_ have prevented it. But, as always, he had come too late.

Or, not quite too late. Not too late to bring a little comfort. Just when Zeno felt So-min’s life ebb almost to nothing, he stirred once more. Zeno frowned; So-min seemed to be trying to open the inside pocket of his tunic, close to his chest, but with his broken hand he couldn’t. And so Zeno did it for him, his fingers finding some small, hard object, warmed by being close to So-min’s heart.

Zeno took it out, opening his fingers to look at it as So-min watched. It sat on Zeno’s grimy palm, bright against the blood and black ash ingrained into his skin, and so incongruous he almost caught his breath.

It was a single earring, a delicately violet drop-shaped pearl suspended from a fine silver clasp. As he looked, So-min raised his good hand - and Zeno could see how much effort even that small motion took - and closed Zeno’s fingers over it.

Zeno nodded, clasping the earring tight in one hand, holding So-min’s hand in the other, counting out the final beats of his heart from the weakening pulse he felt in their shared grip.

* * *

 

So-min slipped away as the dawn became full morning. Zeno built a small stone cairn for him on another hilltop, a little way off. He had had to do this many times in his long life, for people he had known only a little, or loved dearly, or had not known at all. Yet still, he didn’t know quite which words to say; times had changed and the words he still remembered from when he had been a priest didn’t fit with these times, the rituals and the language had all changed in all those centuries that Zeno had wandered the world. But he said what he knew, with faltering voice; the knowledge of the fate of his brothers’ descendants was a heavy burden, but he knew that now of all times he must not shirk it.

He had lingered there a while, but now, he was walking along the road to where he had seen the camp, with Ara cradled in his arms, still sleeping. Her hair tickled his chin, and under his breath he hummed an old song that he knew. As he walked he looked down at her, and could not help but smile a little sadly. She looked so very small and young like that, in sleep. Carefree too, but he knew that her life had been - and would be, as like as not - anything but.

And for a moment then an idea came to Zeno, a bold, frightening idea such as he had not had - or not allowed himself to have - in centuries, or maybe even longer. But a mere moment later he dismissed it; he knew what he had to do. He had to take her back to her people. She belonged with her own blood, her own family.

Yet as he approached the valley where he had seen the camp, doubt began to assail him. The camp was set in a little clearing between a small wood and the rice fields surrounding the village, a peaceful and sheltered place, but even from this distance, Zeno could tell that something was wrong.

From the camp he could hear shouting, the clashing of blades and screams. He could see a spot of smoke rising from the edge of the forest; it had been put out, but that was not a campfire, he could tell. There was chaos, with people still streaming from the ruins of the village, fighting over what must be stores of food that they had risked their lives to go back into the flames for.

Zeno stared, peering around the edge of a little hollow beyond where the rice fields started. He still didn’t understand what had happened here, but one thing was evident now in the light of day: both sides of this conflict, whatever it was, had green hair. That hurt him as deeply as any other part of this, but it also filled him with doubt.

_He had thought that with her people would be the safest place for Ara, but how could it be? How could anywhere be safe, if the dragons’ descendants fought each other, instead of protecting each other as they should?_

He looked down at Ara again, then back at the fighting on the hillside, then back at Ara again. He had promised So-min that he would look after her… only now was he beginning to understand just what that might really mean. He realised that he was holding the earring So-min had given him, tight in his closed fist.

And in that moment, he made his choice.

And so Zeno lifted Ara up once more, cradling her in his arms. Then he turned his back on what remained of the village and its people, and began to walk.


	26. Promises to keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers, just to let you know that I mentioned this might be the last chapter but it's not. There will be one more...it was all going to be one but I split it up as it was very long. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!!

_**(Ten years later)** _

On a spring morning not unlike that other ten years before, Zeno woke to the sound of music, drifting in the gentle wind.

He smiled before he opened his eyes, for a moment inhaling the scent of spring blossom and the earthy-cool smell of the ground. The familiar voice mingled with the shushing of the wind, reminding him what today was.

Zeno had found he liked remembering what _todays_ meant to most people, sometimes. Though he knew it was only for a short while, it was refreshing to have the individual days – drops in a vast ocean of time on which he had been sailing for so long, was bound to sail forever – mean something on their own. At least for a little while.

He got up quickly, ran his fingers through his hair and splashed water on his face from the stream. Then he began to follow the sound he could hear. Someone was playing the shamisen, and singing words along with the melody. The sound was drifting over on the wind from the little grove of cherry trees surrounding the bend in the river, borne on wind that also carried a cloud of pale pink blossom, swirling all about him as he approached.

Once again he smiled to himself, as he saw a pair of bare feet emerging from the branches of one of the trees, kicking backwards and forwards to the melody. One foot of suntanned skin, one glimmering green scales.

Ara was sitting on a bough with her back against the trunk, swinging her legs cheerfully as she played the shamisen. He could barely see her face for the snowfall of petals drifting in the gentle wind, but he could hear her voice easily enough; louder and significantly less in tune than her playing, but joyful and carefree - at least moreso than she had been for some time now. Music helped her, it had as long as he had known her.

Zeno smiled to himself as he recognised the tune; it was one he had taught her, an old song that had all but died out these last few centuries or so.

_“Come traveler, come sit by my fire tonight,_   
_For a tale I will spin of a country, whose plight_   
_Seemed war without end, and hunger and fear,_   
_Its people divided, and dying each year._   
_Now the red dragon god looked down from the skies,_   
_And seeing them hurting brought tears to his eyes._

_So Hiryuu from the heavens above did descend,_   
_For the people he loved, brought the war to an end._   
_And founded our country, with four at his side,_   
_That the heavenly dragons gave gifts, and with pride,_   
_The king and four heroes ruled mountains to shore,_   
_Until he returned to the heavens once more._

_But he is not gone, and neither, it’s told,_   
_Are the others, the dragons white, green, blue and gold._   
_And perhaps, the priests and their visions do say,_   
_He will come back again, with the breaking of day._   
_To the earth and the wind, the water and sky,_   
_The fire in our hearts and the land where he lies._

_But the heart of the story, oh traveler, my friend,_   
_Is here in the message right here at the end,_   
_For the heroes who stood by the king, don’t you see_   
_Were people like you, they were people like me._   
_And they live in our blood, in our songs, in our will_   
_To fight for the land where the dragons sleep still.”_

Zeno clapped as the song ended. He heard laughter coming from the tree, shaking a few more petals loose. “Pretty music, pretty music!” he said. “Ryokuryuu’s been practicing!”

“Thanks! I know, and yes, I have.” The branches above shook and parted, and Ara stared down from the branch, her face splitting into a broad grin at the sight of him. Her leaf-green hair - cropped roughly short with her hunting dagger, bound back by a torn and faded strip of patterned silk - lifted and ruffled by the gentle breeze. The single pearl earring she wore glimmered in pale violet as it caught the dappled sunlight. “Good morning, by the way. Took you long enough to wake up.”

Zeno laughed; he was usually the one who was up earlier, when he slept at all, and Ara who woke later. “Zeno couldn’t forget such an important day!”

She smiled even wider, showing slightly pointed teeth, and jumped down to the ground to land in front of him. “Oh? What day is that then?”

Zeno smiled too. It was a familiar conversation, a little ritual between the two of them, left over from when she was younger. She would pretend not to remember, and he would remind her. He was glad that they still had this; Ara had grown quieter lately, and more pensive, and it was good to see that old, more childish joy on her face. “Why, it’s Ryokuryuu’s birthday, of course!”

Ara feigned shock, stifling a laugh. “Oh! And how old am I? Do you remember, Zeno?”

“Of course! Ryokuryuu is seventeen today!”

“Yes. The same age as you!” she gave him a teasing punch to the arm; she knew full well that he was older than that, by now. “Soon you’ll be the little kid and people will think I’m your big sister!”

Zeno made himself smile, standing up on his tiptoes; she had grown taller than him some months back. “Zeno’s pretty sure they think that already!”

“Mmm…” Ara’s smile clouded a little then, as she seemed to realise the implication of what she had said. These ten years that Zeno had raised Ara and come to love her like a little sister. But in that time, they had also developed an unspoken understanding that there were things that they didn’t talk about. Just now they had come closer than usual to several of those.

As he so often did, Zeno wondered just how much Ara knew, or how much she guessed about his true age, and his nature. She had seen him get cut through with a sword, and she had seen his scales. It had been a hard and dangerous decade; he had tried not to fight, but out on the road he had been the only one who could protect Ara when she was young, so there had been times when he had not been able to avoid it. Ara had been in shock, pale and shaking, and afterwards they had had a discussion; it had been plain enough that he could not be killed by normal means. And later she had guessed, too, that he was older than he he looked. It was a natural conclusion to come to.

But he had not told her everything; the gods knew, there was so much she still did not know.

She did not know, for a start, that he really was the first and only Ouryuu; she thought he was only one of a line of more long-lived dragons than she, he supposed. He had always been vague about his past, and she had never pressed him too hard. He felt guilty sometimes, using her compassion and understanding to his advantage like that. But he also knew that it was too late to tell her the full truth now; she would only feel betrayed, and it would do no good anyway, he had reasoned.

That was what Zeno usually told himself. But even so, he could not entirely shake the feeling that he was keeping something back for his own protection; his body may be invulnerable, but he did not think his heart could take the onslaught of questions she would surely have if he were to tell her the whole truth. He knew how she idolised the first generation of dragon warriors, had grown up hearing tales of their daring and heroic exploits, and he didn’t think that he could speak about his original brothers in those terms without breaking apart. Especially not to her.

After all, he owed her more than to be the disappointing reality behind her childhood tales, he told himself.

And so he told her a vague tale of the loss of his own village and all the people he knew - technically, it wasn’t a lie - and left her to guess. Perhaps she understood that there were things that hurt to much to speak of, he thought with a sinking heart.

The taut silence lasted only a moment between them, though. After a second, Ara reached forward and ruffled Zeno’s hair. She grinned. “Well, new little brother, shall we do something fun for my birthday?”

“What did Ryokuryuu have in mind?”

“Hmm…” she tugged at her earring as she thought. “How far to the nearest town?”

“Just half a day, if Ryokuryuu carries Zeno!”

“Oh, we’re putting on the old man act now, are we?”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

“Hmm… well, we could try to go to the town, but then we’d miss half the day for travelling. This is a nice place too, don’t you think?”

“Well, it’s Ryokuryuu’s birthday….your choice!”

“All right.” She grinned. “Well, I say we stay here. We don’t need towns to have a good day.” She laid her shamisen down carefully at the base of the tree, picked up her bow and quiver from beside it. “If you go looking for fruit, then I’ll get us a bird for dinner. I saw some by the river over there.”

“Sounds perfect!”

This, then, was how their lives were for now. Zeno had not travelled _with_ anyone for a long while, but he had found that he rather liked it, the two of them exploring the country together as Ara grew up. Most places in Kouka, Zeno had come to know very well in the course of his long life, but Ara seeing them with fresh, wondering eyes always made him see the beauty in them anew. At least for a little while; he knew this wouldn’t last, and that perhaps  it really would prove unwise to get too close to one of his brother’s decedents. But though he knew that it would only hurt, he had found that on a daily basis it was surprisingly easy to forget why.

Zeno heard Ara’s yell of annoyance as she shot and missed, followed by a splash as - he could only assume - she fell into the waters of the river. Since they had got her a bow several years ago, Ara had been determinedly teaching herself to shoot from the air. And though she was a passable shot, and her mastery of her power had increased dramatically, she still hadn’t quite mastered the coordination of doing both at once.

Still, she was quick to pick herself up out of the water and try again. He couldn’t help but laugh; she had picked up an impressive vocabulary of curses from the sailors in the port towns they sometimes visited, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she scared all the birds off with the exaggerated threats she was yelling across the water.

Still, they had this whole day, at least. Zeno smiled to himself as he began to climb a tree to get to the fruit at the top; she deserved the life of the freedom she had now, and all the joys it could provide, and more. And for himself, he knew he had to treasure days like these.

After all, now more than ever they would not last.

 

Hours later, the moon had risen and the blue evening was fading into night. Zeno chewed the last meat off a leg bone from the bird that Ara had shot and he had roasted for their dinner, while Ara sat cross legged by the fire, quietly strumming the shamisen’s strings. His birthday present to her had been a new bachi of beautiful inlaid wood, that he had bought for her in secret the last time they had stopped in Chi’shin. She was using it now, trying out the new sound against the strings. Her eyes were cast downwards, staring thoughtfully at her hands as she played. She was mumbling the words under her breath, too soft for him to make out at first, but growing louder.

_“Hush child of mine, sleep safe and sleep deep,_   
_One swallow, two swallow, three._   
_Birds flying swift to reach the sun,_   
_And tell it that it’s got a promise to keep,_   
_And must rise up with the dawn._   
_Four swallow, five swallow, six._   
_May your dreams be soft and kind and bright,_   
_But if there are nightmares that that trouble your night,_   
_Then rest, for they must come past me, my love._   
_Seven and eight swallows, nine and ten,_   
_Remember the sun will soon rise again,_   
_In the beautiful sky above.”_

“What’s that?” he asked.

She didn’t look up, but behind her hair falling over her face he saw her smile, a little sadly. “A lullaby.”

“From your village?” It wasn’t one of the songs he had taught her, he thought.

She frowned. “Maybe. But that wasn’t where I learned it… my mother used to sing it to me sometimes.”Her eyes narrowed slightly, as she strummed the notes. “I don’t know if I remembered all the words right… I was very young.”

He smiled. “Zeno thinks it’s pretty anyway.”

“…Maybe.”

The two of them did not speak for a while longer, listening to Ara’s playing, mingling with the rustling of the branches above and soft sounds of the night.

It was not an empty hush, but rather an expectant one, filled with things that had waited a long time to be given voice.

It was Ara that spoke first, abruptly, as she stopped playing, hand flattened against the strings to silence them.

“Zeno. I want to ask you something.”

He looked up at her almost with a start; she sounded different now than she had before. She looked it too. It was not merely the dying firelight casting her face in a play of strange dancing shadows; she frowned into the glowing embers, and he was suddenly struck by how much older she looked. He had barely noticed her growing up, but she was hardly the frightened child anymore that he had carried away from her village, ten years before. “Ah…yes, Ryokuryuu?” He cleared his throat, not quite trusting himself to speak. He had an inkling, just from her expression and the tone of her voice, of what she was about to say, but he didn’t want to be proved right.

“My successor has been born… a few weeks ago, in the village.” She raised her head. “Did you know that?”

Her voice was light and casual, in a forced sort of way. It was a question, and yet it wasn’t. She knew that he must have felt it, as strongly as the two of them felt each other’s bright presences.

He saw no point in lying, even though his heart sank and his head spun each time he tried to think of what it would mean. “Yes. Zeno did.”

There was a short silence, filled only with the sound of a night bird’s call, the quiet shushing of the wind in the tree tops. Even so, her next words were only just loud enough for him to hear.

“I wonder what the village is like now.”

Zeno frowned. “It won’t be the same as you remember, Ryokuryuu.” He stirred the last embers of the fire with a stick. “Places change. People too.”

“I know. That’s why I was wondering.”

He hesitated. “Ryokuryuu… wants to go back there.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

He nodded, dropping his stick with a sigh. “Zeno thought so.”

“Zeno, I have wanted this for a while now. Before the child was born, even.” She looked up at him, eyes wide and full of something he had never seen there before. “They must have moved away from where they were before, after the village burned. The child was born somewhere new, but right now…we’re the closest we’ve ever been. It would be… easy. I could get there in a few hours, from here.”

He sighed. He had known, he supposed, for some time now. Perhaps the thought of it had always been somewhere there, like a thin thread tying her to her past - and the gods knew that he understood that feeling, which was perhaps why he had done his best to ignore it. It was one of those things that they hadn’t talked about, things that he had no idea _how_ to talk about. And like shadows, they always pressed closest in the night, and tonight they seemed just within reach.

The fire flickered, and he realised as the light danced in her eyes that Ara was watching him intently, head tilted slightly to one side.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“ _Well_ , will you…” Ara scrunched up her face in that thinking way she had since she was a child. She looked as though she was searching for the right words, as though even she did not know how to approach this. Or feared to. That wasn’t like her, he thought; she was so brave, most of the time. She folded her hands in her lap, awkwardly. Suddenly her words were pouring out in a rush. “Zeno, I… do you understand that I can’t just… stay away, never return to my village? I know there was fighting, and there were people there who wanted to hurt me, keep me a captive. But there are also people that I cared for there…my grandmother might still be alive! And then there’s that child.” She swallowed, biting her lip. “If it’s like it was when you saved me… and I promise I am grateful to you, I owe you so much! But…if what I remember is true, then that child is in as much danger as I was, at the end.” She twisted her clasped hands together. “I…I know that maybe I don’t have much time left, now. And I’d like to do something good with what I have.”

Zeno sighed. “Ryokuryuu…we’ve talked about this before.” They hadn’t, of course; not that specifically. They had discussed Ara’s village before, piecing together her memories of what had happened that terrible night with what Zeno had seen there, trying to understand. At the time, it had helped her, he had thought. He had been determined to help her heal, to grow up as happy as she could in the circumstances.

And so when she had wanted to talk about her past, to work her way through it, he had been there to listen. But at the same time, he knew there were other things of which she did not speak, _could_ not speak, even to him. He had often marveled at how different she was to her distant ancestor Shuten, but in this way she was like him, Zeno had thought at times like these; she would speak freely about some things, but the things that she had no solutions to, she could not begin to broach.

The fact that there was a new Ryokuryuu in the world now - that Ara was losing her power - was one of these things.

She tugged at her earring again; it was a habit she had developed. Zeno remembered the day he had given it to her. It had been soon after he had taken her from her village - perhaps too soon, he thought sometimes. He remembered how her eyes had gone wide with shock, then filled up with tears. He had held her as she sobbed noisily, clutching the earring in her small fist - her cruelly burned palms still not quite healed over - as though it was all she had to hold on to in the world. She had worn it constantly on a cord around he neck until she was twelve, when he had heard her crying out in pain and found her trying to pierce her own ear with her blunt darning needle so that she could wear it. Zeno had soothed away her tears, washed her bloody hands and done it for her, as best he could, and after that day she had never taken the earring off.

The truth was, Ara’s connection to her home was something of an unknown quantity to him. He wished now that he knew more, had spent more time in the village so that he could better understand her, could help with this. He supposed that even now he kept expecting her to be like Shuten, who had been notoriously close-mouthed about his past; beholden to no one, ready to leave the it all behind.

It was past time he realised that Ara wouldn’t grow up to be like that. And yet, something about this set off warning bells within him; he thought back to the village, the state he had left it in. The fire in the sky, Ara’s predecessor dying in his arms. Zeno had seen so many people die over the centuries - some by his own hand - but whenever he felt one of the other dragons die it was different. It reminded him of all the people he had not been near at the last. All the promises he had not kept.

“Zeno promised to protect you.” Perhaps it was too late, he thought, to suddenly begin keeping his promises. Perhaps he was already lost. But as much as the hope in her eyes cut at his heart, he knew he could not let Ara do whatever it was she planned. Not if it meant breaking his word to So-min.

She gritted her teeth. “This is about more than just me! Do you understand, Zeno? They had me in chains!”  
“And now Ryokuryuu’s free!” He put his hand on her forearm, trying to make her understand. But even _he_ didn’t even understand himself the complex swirl of misgivings he was feeling now. “Let it go.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She looked up at him, eyes alight. “And what if they do that again, hmm? Would you let them chain a child to a wall?” She glared at him in frustration, as he sat in stunned silence; even his lack of an answer to that seemed to upset her further. “Or would you do nothing?”

“Zeno would…” he felt a sharp pain in his throat, not least because some part of him was crying out to agree with her.

Had she been keeping these fears inside the whole time? Had this been what had been eating at her happiness? For how long? He supposed it always had been there, somewhere, but he wished that even for a little while, she could have been truly happy. Not that he was the best example. He swallowed. “Zeno would… cherish the freedom you have.”

Ara balled up her fists in front of her, her face stony. “So you would leave a child to… that? That’s…” she stared at him, as though seeing him through new eyes.

“No! Of course not…”

“Standing by and doing nothing is just as bad!”

“No it’s…” but he tailed off, second guessing himself, at the expression in her face, as she turned away from him, her hand pressed flat against the strings of her shamisen. “Ryo- ah… Ara….”

She twitched a little at the sound of her name, but did not reply.

“Zeno is sorry. Zeno didn’t… didn’t mean that.”

She didn’t turn around. “Didn’t you?”

He sighed. “The village might not be like that anymore.”

She turned back to him, glancing at him under her lashes, her voice stiff, quiet. “Then what’s stopping me going back?”

“…” Zeno opened his mouth, but no words came. She was right, he knew. He laid a hand on her arm. “Zeno didn’t mean to sound cold. Of course Zeno cares about Ryokuryuu’s family.” _More than she knew_. “Of course Zeno wouldn’t want a child to be hurt.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Then she sighed, the sound of heartache. “I know, Zeno. I know you just want me to be safe, but…” she frowned, staring into the fire. “I’ve felt it for a while now… I think this is something I _have_ to do. So-min died to save me, and he did save me, he brought me to you. But…” she picked up the stick Zeno had held before. “I have to go back. I can’t just keep running forever! I’m sick of running!”

He touched the back of her wrist gently, and after a moment she opened her hand, clasped his as she had when she was a child, woken by the nightmares of the very real fears in her not-so-distant past. He felt the roughness of her scarred palm, the warmth and pulse in her skin. A night bird called in the darkness outside their little circle of firelight. “Ryokuryuu, it’s too dark to speak of such fearful things… we’ll talk about it in the morning, all right?”

She looked him in the eye, over their clasped hands, then finally nodded, dropping her head. “All right.”

* * *

 

The song she had sung earlier was running through her head, and Ara resisted the urge to hum to herself to dispel some of her nervous energy as she stuffed her few things into her pack by the light of the moon alone.

She must be quiet, she knew; she hated the idea of breaking her word to Zeno - and was this really breaking it? Yes, she thought uncomfortably, it most certainly was - but this… this was worth it, she felt sure. This was not about Zeno, nor was it about Ara herself, or her guilt; after all, she was setting out to save an innocent, wasn’t she?

She was just telling herself this - for the third or fourth time - as she finished packing up her things, standing up and strapping her shamisen to her back and her bow and quiver to her hip, looking around the clearing suspiciously. It was a still, beautiful night; nothing stirred, not even Zeno, curled up in the hollow between three boughs of a tree. Ara didn’t look long at him; she was worried that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to leave.

Instead, she turned her eyes to the sky. It was cloudless but hazy, the half moon surrounded by a rainbow-bright nimbus, spectral and distant.

The mist was growing thicker; that was good, Ara thought. While jumping through misty skies was always a strangely disorientating - and damp - experience, today it was a small price to pay to go unnoticed.

Besides, she thought, turning in a full circle and going to the centre of the clearing, it wasn’t as though she would have trouble navigating. She had a heading clearer than a signal beacon, a brilliant green light in the edge of her consciousness, such as she had not felt since So-min had died. When she had first felt it, her throat had tightened with familiarity, and tears had come stinging to her eyes as the old ache of loss had seized her heart again, the old scar hurting again. It had grown with her, that scar; changing as she had, etched deeper than her skin.

And this new bright presence may as well have torn the decade-old wound back open again. She should hate it, perhaps; she should resent it, for bringing all that pain back to her.

Yet, she had soon realised, this light was different, its own being. Where near the end So-min’s had been like a fire that has burned all night and is reduced to glowing charcoal and embers, this light flickered like a new-lit flame of a taper, sheltered by a cupped hand from the wind outside. Glowing in defiance, one day to become something bright and hot. But for now vulnerable, in need of shelter and care.

And that was why she was breaking her promise to Zeno. And though she knew that he would be afraid for her - disappointed, betrayed, and the gods knew he had a right to be after all that Zeno had done for her - Ara thought at least he would not be too surprised. She looked down at her scarred palms in the moonlight, clasping them in determined fists.

She put the thought from her mind for now, gritting her teeth. After all, she had a task to do tonight. As an afterthought, she put on her broad-brimmed straw hat, tying it underneath her chin decisively. At least it would help in hiding her face and her hair.

Then, forcing herself to keep her gaze away from where Zeno was sleeping, Ara jumped into the mist of the night sky.

 

The journey went quicker than Ara had expected; even now, she still sometimes underestimated her own speed and power. And so the moon was still bright in the sky by the time she sensed that she was near her destination.

At a certain distance, she landed on the ground and stayed there, sticking close to the pools of shadow cast by the trees that dotted the hillside; where she was now, she thought it possible that if anyone saw her shadow cross the moon at the height of her jump, then they might recognise it for what it really was, and she didn’t want to take that chance.

Still, the slow progress that stealth necessitated made her impatient, now when she was so close she could see the valley when she squinted past the sparse, gnarled boughs of the trees and bushes.

It was her first sight of the homes of her own people in ten years, and despite her caution, she drew in a quick little breath as memory stirred inside her, whipping up pain and nostalgia and even a little excitement. This was _real_ ; Ara had turned this plan over in her mind over and over with determination for the last few months, rounding and smoothing it like a river pebble, but now she was actually here she was struck all at once by the reality of it.

She wondered if she should risk jumping into the branches of one of the stunted trees to get a better view. But looking at them, she wasn’t even sure the branches would support her weight. She frowned. The vegetation here was sparse enough that it provided almost no cover.

And so she risked simply staring down into the valley, drinking it in. The place itself was strange to Ara, less familiar even than she was expecting without knowing it. She remembered the village as vertical, a confusing but wonderful mass of ropes and platforms, bridges and highwalks and houses on stilts. As a child she had loved it immediately, and she smiled sadly as she remembered spending hours playing barefoot on the rooftops with the birds, driving So-min to affectionate distraction.

This was different. The village was spread out across a sprawling valley cut by a shallow dry river bed. The were older, dilapidated and broken-down looking houses of wood surrounded by a haphazard cluster of newer-built, low huts of earth and the beginnings of stone walls. Not far away, there were ugly scars in the ground where some sort of earthworks had been begun, the start of terraces, she supposed. But the ground, when she felt a handful of it, was dry and sandy; nothing like the rich loam she remembered under her feet when she was a child playing on the edges of the rice fields.

She was just wondering how this land could support a whole village, when there came a sound behind her. Immediately Ara flinched, her whole body going tense as she half jumped into the low-slung, bottommost branches of the tree.

But no, she mustn’t be afraid, she knew. She was stronger than anyone else here, and besides, what she was doing was right.

Ara turned, painfully slowly, hearing her breath and the beat of her heart as loud as thunder, despite herself, as the rustling sound came again. Her hand crept to her bow as she peered out into the gloom.

Ara had half expected to see no one there, but instead she caught her breath as she saw a dark figure, silhouetted against the hillside. They seemed to be draped in some sort of dark, hooded cloak, and carried a tall staff of polished wood.

Just then there came a voice, raised, guarded and made harsh with it.

“Who is it? How did you find this place?”

Ara almost fell out of the tree. The voice was familiar, though Ara had not heard it since she was a young child. Though ten years stood in the way, Ara recognised it immediately.

She clung to her branch in shock, unable to answer, staring at the figure for a long moment. From the depths of their hood, the stranger stared back.

Then at last the figure gasped, and when they spoke again that voice was cracked, as though trying to hold together and not give in to….hope?

“R-Ryokuryuu…? Ara? Can it… really be you?”

Ara sighed, smiled sadly to herself, and climbed down from the tree slowly. Then she reached up and took off her hat, then took off the earring she wore in her left ear for the first time in years. She held it out before her, the tremble now gone from her fingers.

“Hello, Grandmother” she said. “I’m sorry I took so long to come back to you.”


	27. Parting Ways

“Here you are, darling.” In-na placed a bowl of soup in front of Ara. “I’m sorry it’s not much, but it’s warm, at least.”

“Oh! Thank you, you shouldn’t have…” Ara reached for the spoon, her eyes glittering a little with tears, In-na saw, as she dipped her head and began to eat.

In-na couldn’t help but smile as Ara’s eyes lit up, just the same way as they had when she was a child. Even back then In-na had wished, from the first time she saw her, that she could always protect her and make her smile so. She drew back, smiling regretfully. “It’s no trouble. I’m sorry I can’t make your favourite rice balls, but the way the new crops have been…” she broke off. The crops were still failing year on year, so the rice was traded with what travelling merchants the village elders deemed trustworthy enough to be worth the risk. Not that many frequented this place as it was; the village elders, or those that called themselves such, had chosen it for that very reason. 

What traders there were understood that the village was desperate – though not the reason for it – and summarily sold them the lowest grade of provisions for an extortionate price. And even of that, In-na’s share was meagre; the villagers may tolerate having her around, and they may keep her alive out of fear, but the truth was she barely had enough to get by.

Still, she would rather not admit that to Ara; the poor girl didn’t need to be troubled with guilt at what had happened while she was gone “…it’s the wrong sort,” she explained, belatedly. “Doesn’t stick together properly. Besides, we can’t get plums or ginger, or much meat either, usually.”

Ara nodded, still eating her soup, with a critical eye now. “Have times been hard, then…?” she set down her spoon, tilting her head, looking almost afraid to ask. She looked around the dark little hut. In-na wondered how much Ara was able to guess. Times had indeed been hard since they had left the previous village; they had wandered the lands for six long years after what remained of the elders of Ki-nam’s little traveling clan had decided that the beautiful valley where In-na had grown up – the village now blackened ash and the crops ruined - was cursed ground.

They had wandered for a while and then they had settled here – another village, abandoned, In-na reckoned, decades ago. Because of disease, or, more likely she thought, because of famine. The buildings had been ramshackle, only some still standing, but Dawon – who had come out on top as Ki-nam’s de facto successor - had said that it was the best place they would find. Dawon believed that the gods had sent them this place, and if anyone else thought otherwise, then they didn’t dare say it aloud. That had been about four years ago, but In-na knew bad soil when she saw it; better than most of these traveling folk, anyway.

Not that she had a say in the matter. And so the villagers – both Ki-nam’s former wandering clan, and the survivors who had formed an uneasy alliance with them, or at least decided they were safer with the group than on their own – began to mend and reinhabit this broken and abandoned place. It was slow going, but they had managed to rebuild many of the old tumbledown houses, and weatherproof them for the winter.

But at some point they had stopped speaking about this place as though it was a temporary home; it was hidden, and that was judged important, and they had begun to build on top of and around the older houses of wood. They had also begun building smaller, one-storey houses in the surrounding lands out of mud bricks. But it was slow going, with this tribe of wanderers who had been travelling – in many cases – their whole lives, as well as a few rice farmers who had spent all their days in the old village, with its stilts and bridges. For her own part, In-na was left mostly alone, living on the outskirts of the village in an old shepard’s hut. They traded food with her for the herbs that grew on the other side of the ridge, and for her knowledge of them, but she was broadly disliked, and people only came to her out of necessity. It was barely enough to carve out a little existence for herself, but, she often thought, it could have been a lot worse.

All for the burning of the tree, the release of the spirits; an act of desperation. She had never heard the voices of spirits before, never been aware of their presence in the living world, and that had not changed. Yet somehow, that had become her legacy, so even the few survivors of the old village thought she was some sort of dark priestess, or a spirit herself.

In-na thought for a moment longer before answering. Times _had_ been hard; that was the thing. They had been the hardest, in fact, she had ever experienced, and she knew it showed on her face. She was thinner and weaker, and looked twenty years older though it had only been ten. It wasn’t just the famine though; without her family, the people she loved with her, some days there seemed little point in carrying on, with the constant hatred and loneliness.

But that was not talk for this moment; after all, Ara had only just returned to her. She sighed fondly. “They’re better now you’re here, darling.” She ruffled Ara’s hair, making her smile. “Now eat your soup. You look half starved.”

* * *

 

“This is well made” said In-na sometime after Ara had finished eating, looking Ara’s short, double-curved bow over with interest, as Ara plucked the strings of her shamisen in the corner. Occasionally there was a shred of a melody In-na recognised; she remembered singing some of them to Joona and So-min, when they were children. She stared down the length of the bow with a critical eye, nodding approvingly. “Where did you get it?”

“I got it in Shisen… it’s a port town, in the Water Tribe. See the maker’s mark?”

In-na’s eyes widened; it was one even she had heard of, despite living most of her life far from the Water Tribe. “This must have been expensive!”

Ara smiled faintly, looking up from her hands on the strings. “I wanted a good bow, so I worked for four months running errands for the dockers to save up. But when I got to the shop, the master bowyer’s son threw me out of that fancy place; he thought me and Zeno were thieves, I suppose. Wouldn’t believe me when I said I had the money and I got it through honest work.” Her face soured.

In-na raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story.

Ara looked a little abashed. “…Um. So then I stole it, grabbed Zeno and jumped away before they could catch me.”

It was all In-na could do not to laugh; still, she tried for an at least slightly admonishing tone. “Ara!”

“I still left him the money!” she protested, “….most of it, anyway. Besides, I was _right_. It was him that was wrong.”

In-na smiled a little resignedly. There it was again; that stubborn streak that seemed to run in their family, for better or for worse. She remembered it in Geon most of all; she and Geon had clung to it and lived on it, back in the days when it was just the two of them and their baby daughter, and they had hatched a plan together to kidnap his brother’s child one winter’s night. _Because_ _we_ _a_ _re right. It’s him that’s wrong_. She sighed; given what they had gained that night, she saw no reason to stop believing in it now, hard as the last few years had been.

And so she smiled and shook her head as she checked the tension of the string, nodding approvingly, before handing the bow back to Ara. “Ah well. it doesn’t matter. But I’m interested; you clearly know how to take care of this. But do you know how to use it?”

“I’ve been practicing…” said Ara hesitantly, as In-na picked up the quiver lying on the table between them, began examining the arrows and their fletching. These were of middling quality, but even looking at them brough back an old tug in her heart, a yearning for a life lost.

“I…I want to get as good as So-min was, some day.” Ara continued. “But I’m still not there yet…”  
In-na looked up from the arrows, the pain in her chest growing more acute. “Yes. Yes…he was good, wasn’t he. But… you’ll get there some day.”  
“…I know.” Ara paused. “I… I miss him. A lot. I miss my mother, and I miss Jae-gyu…and I’ve missed you, too.”

The words sounded, to In-na’s ears, like a relief to say. They came in a rush, as though Ara hadn’t actually spoken them for many years. Maybe not even allowed herself to think them, to touch the old griefs and cause herself pain. At least that was something In-na was intimately familiar with. On impulse, she reached across the table, laid a hand on the back of Ara’s. “I have missed you too, my darling.”

There was silence for a long moment, but a peaceful sort of silence, not an uncomfortable one. Ara took the chance to look around the room, as In-na finished inspecting her quiver and handed it back.

“Thank you.” Ara frowned. “But there are none of your tools in here! Don’t you make arrows anymore?”

In-na’s face darkened. “Not anymore. Not for ten years… I swore, after…” she tailed off.

“But you’re so good at it!” protested Ara. “Why give up a trade you loved?” 

She sighed, sadly. “Why indeed? To tell you the truth, it did hurt to give it up. But I can live without it, and you see, I made a promise. That I wouldn’t make arrows, not for _them_. Not after all that had happened, all the blood of people I loved that they had shed. They don’t deserve - or, I fear, need - my help in killing. I made a promise, and sometimes you have to give up something important for a greater cause, if you really believe it to be right. Even if it only makes a little bit of difference.”

“I…I see” said Ara.

“Besides, they don’t need me to make weapons for them, anymore.” Her face twisted. “Do you remember Jumong, my apprentice?”

Ara glanced at her. “…The one who betrayed us.”

In-na nodded, stiffly. “He is the village’s fletcher. He’s… talented, but I am not proud of him, of what he has become.” She hesitated, wondering how much she should tell Ara. “He’s… married now, to…to Reyoung, the daughter of Elder Dawon.”

Ara frowned, clearly catching a note in In-na’s voice.

“Reyoung is…” In-na shook her head. “Even I’m afraid of her.”

“Afraid? Why?”

“She’s…” In-na sighed, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it. “Something… happened to her, in those years before we settled here. She was practically still a child at the time, but… I don’t know exactly, but she disappeared for a while, and when she came back she was different. It made her… cruel. It filled her with hatred, the kind that Ki-nam spoke. She’s like her mother, but worse. And now - ” she broke off.

Ara frowned. “Now what?”

In-na sighed. She hadn’t intended to speak of that, at least not yet. Not before morning came, at least. “The… the child,” she whispered. As she said the words, Ara’s eyes widened, and In-na knew that Ara knew exactly which child she meant. “Gods help that poor little boy. Jumong and Reyoung… are his parents.”

Ara’s mouth opened a little, her eyes lighting for a moment with some strong emotion. Then she swallowed, looked back at In-na.

And in that moment, In-na saw in Ara’s eyes something that she hadn’t before; she saw why Ara was here in the village. Why she had come now, of all times.

It was for the child.

And in that moment, the very idea terrified her, for Ara’s sake.

In-na cleared her throat nervously to break the electric tension in the air that her words have created, producing the earring Ara had given her from a pocket. She fiddled reflexively with it, forcing a smile. It seemed to work; as soon as Ara saw the earring, the gentle smile started to return to her face. “But come now” said In-na. “I’ve got something else I want to show you!”

Turning away from her hastily, she tapped her staff on the ground as she walked over to the rough cabinet at the side of the room. She had to reach high to get it down, but before Ara could come over and help her she had it.

She had never shown this to anyone before; there had been no one here, no one left to her. But now there was Ara.

If this was for anyone, it was for her.

In-na took a deep breath, and opened the box.

* * *

 

Ara watched In-na go to the cabinet and take down the box, curious more than anything now. It was about as long as her forearm in each direction, and it had a lock, but no key. She lifted the lid of the box to reveal…. _p_ _a_ _per?_ Many papers, neatly stacked, some already old and curling at the edges. In-na picked up a stack, and motioned for Ara too look, her face bright suddenly, quite banishing the darkness of the conversation they had been having before. Ara’s eyes widened as she came forward and began paging quickly through what looked like years worth of neat calligraphy. “You wrote all this?”

“Yes, some… or rather, I compiled most of it. But I saved whatever I could find, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. So there are accounts, and records, and genealogies…” she sighed. “So much burned with the old village, so much was lost, and it was in the interests of the people who did this that it remain lost. I don’t know what you remember, but I know that they will tell the next Ryokuryuu child whatever they want.” She shook her head. “I always regretted that I never told So-min enough. I won’t let then keep the generations of the future in the dark.”

She picked up a sheet, on which there were sketches, done in black and green ink; a man with green hair and a woman with dark, their faces different but so alike to each other. Young and smiling, and so alive. A little boy with bright green curls laughing as he aimed a bow, and a slightly older girl, spinning about on one foot while holding a double-ended spear. Her family. There were other people that Ara didn’t recognise, but one sketch caught her eye: a little girl eating a pear while peering out from under a frayed straw hat, too big for her. That one, Ara recognised immediately; it was herself. She realised her eyes were stinging with tears, as she looked back up at In-na.

When she met her eye though, In-na was smiling conspiratorially. “This isn’t exactly what I wanted to show you, though.” Reaching down into the box, she lifted out the papers and laid them reverentially aside. She reached back into the empty box, feeling her way around the bottom of it; a moment later, there was a woody click, and when In-na drew her hand away she could see a flat compartment she hadn’t seen before open, set into the box’s thick wooden base that she had thought solid. In-na motioned Ara to look.

She did, and what she saw made her gasp once more. For there was a book; a slim, battered volume bound in worn green cloth, familiar after all these years. She remembered intimately the whisper of the pages under her mother’s fingers, the way the cover was worn smooth and threadbare by years of travel and handling. She should know; she had clutched it and read it and simply handled it for comfort so many lonely nights after her mother had died. Beside the book was a little cloth and leather dragon figurine; she recognised it vaguely too, as one of those that had hung from the tree by the shrine, back in the old village.

And there was something else too; a single earring, a drop-shaped violet pearl, bright against the dark wood. The twin of the one she had carried all these years. “Ah, here we are” said In-na. “This is what I was looking for.”

In-na took it out, holding the two earrings one in each hand for a while. They glinted in the light of the lamp as she stared at them with wistful longing, and something else that was harder for Ara to read.

Then, she gave a deep sigh and smiled, and held out both earrings to Ara.

Ara’s eyes widened. “You’re….you’re giving them to me? But you can’t!”

“I can” said In-na gently, taking Ara’s hand and closing it over the earrings. “It’s what she would have wanted. Jae-gyu, that is… but also your grandfather, and your mother, and So-min.” She lifted her hand, touching Ara’s cheek. “I might not be able to speak to the spirits like the villagers think, but I know that much. And…and it’s what I want too, darling. You’re the best of all of us.”

“But.. I can’t… they’re yours!”

“Alright, well what about this….think of it as good luck for what you’re planning to do, before the night is gone.”

Ara’s eyes widened. “How did you - ”

“Oh, my dear. I knew why you were here, the moment I saw you I suppose, if I’m being honest with myself. It’s wasn’t just for me you came here, was it?”

Ara folded her fingers together, looking down. “…..No….”

“I know you’re planning on making an attempt to find your successor, the new baby Ryokuryuu…” In-na’s face clouded. “And I had originally thought to try to stop you. But…I know that it would be wrong of me to do so, even though the task will be dangerous; all is not well in the village, as I’m sure is obvious. I would go in your place if I could. But I’m afraid I can only offer you advice… and these.” She held Ara’s hand, containing the earrings, pressing it close to Ara’s heart.

“But I don’t want to take them away…” Ara frowned. “I am glad you understand that this is something I have to do. But if something were to happen to me…”

In-na frowned, folding her arms. “…I hope you are not planning any sort of… heroic sacrifice, young lady. I know this family, and its…penchant for that sort of - ”

“No! No, nothing like that!” Ara flushed; in truth, the thought had crossed her mind, albeit only in the darkest parts of the nights. “But…if something _does_ happen…”

In-na sighed. “I’ll tell you what. Think of it like a loan. Take them, and bring them back to me.”

“What?”

In-na smiled sadly, making the wrinkles show around her eyes. They were deeper than Ara remembered, but her smile was just as warm. “Bring them back to me. Take them with you, and promise to bring them back when you return.”

Ara stared at her for a long while. Then she nodded, closing her fist tighter around the earrings. “I promise I will!”

“Very well.” In-na let go of Ara’s hands, folded her own fingers neatly and looked over at her across the table. “Then I think, if you are set on a rescue, then we should discuss how to go about it, don’t you think?”

* * *

 

“And what do you do if you get in trouble?”

Outside the door of In-na’s little hut on the hill, Ara rolled her eyes affectionately as she squeezed In-na’s hands in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring. “I’ll come right back here to you.”

“Good. Also, don’t try to fight Reyoung, or anyone actually, unless you absolutely have to. And when you get the child - ”

“I come right back to you and we can decided what to do next. Got it.”

In-na nodded, setting her staff to one side for a moment to touch Ara’s cheek. “It’s not that much of a plan. I only wish I could help…”

But Ara waved her hand. “It’s enough. I’ll be fine.” She grinned. “I promise.”

And in that moment, In-na almost entirely believed her. She certainly wanted to; and so, she pushed down the misgivings building in her heart, and told herself that it would not be like the last time, when she and Geon had planned their rescue of So-min, that cold night all those years ago. She smiled, ruffling Ara’s hair. “Be safe. I love you.”

“I love you too!” She was caught be surprise by Ara’s tight hug. “Don’t worry. It’ll be easy. I’ll be back soon.”

And as Ara turned away, neither of them saw the three dark-dressed figures, carefully out of line of sight on each of the other three sides of the house, come a little closer to where In-na stood by the door looking out across the valley.

* * *

 

Some distance away and deep within a dream, Zeno stirred. He could feel something moving, somewhere up above the dim, soft world of sleep. Moving fast. A moment later he was blinking and twitching into full wakefulness, kicking out of his blankets and jarring his elbow on the bark of the tree in whose crook he slept.

 _Ara_. Her name rose to his lips as the tail-ends of sleep left him, filling him with a sudden nameless fear. Almost reflexively, he reached out with his sense of her; sure enough, she was far away, somewhere to the east. He gritted his teeth. He should have guessed, should have stayed awake, should have tried to reason with her before she did something stupid and reckless.

There was no reason, he tried to tell himself as he searched the clearing again, to suppose that she had done something like that now. He could feel her presence strong and clear, and he would know if she was fearful, or in pain; he had gotten better at sensing her emotions through their bond, at least broadly, and if something happened he would know. Besides, Ara was old enough to handle herself now, he told himself.

And yet still, he felt that other presence, that second green light, and as he thought over the day before he realised he must have underestimated the pull it clearly had on Ara’s heart. She was getting closer to it, and that filled him with a trickle of cold fear for reasons that had everything to do with all that he had saved her from, ten years ago. He had sworn to protect her, and though there was no reason to suppose she was in danger, he knew that he couldn’t simply let this lie; not even until the morning, when fear and guilt were cowed a little in the light of day.

With a sigh, Zeno pushed down the nameless foreboding that was beginning to gather like clouds within him, and began to follow.

* * *

 

Some time later, Ara let herself down a sloping wooden roof and dropped as quietly as she could through the window, even the light sound of her feet on the floor within making her wince. But this was the right place, she knew; she could feel the green presence in her mind, very bright and very close.

She squinted into the dark room, wishing for the light of the moon once more; while she had been in In-na’s hut some thin clouds had rolled in, straggling across the moon, and Ara had had neither the courage nor the foresight to carry a lamp with her here.

She padded forward on quiet feet, reaching out blindly; or, a moment later as her eyes adjusted, not quite so blindly; there was actually almost enough diffuse light from the window to see by. There was also a soft glow of lantern light, from the other side of the room, heavily shaded so its glow was hard to pick out from the blackness, dwindling almost to nothing. She blinked, as her eyes adjusted. It was dim, though; she frowned, even as she reached out with her other sense, the one that told her where the child was.

Sure enough, there was that green glow; brighter, in her mind, than the real light from the window. It was just about where she had seen the lantern, too. She opened her eyes to try to see. It was a strange sort of room, she thought; a half of a loft, with three walls sloping under the pitch of the roof and one vertical partition wall, which was draped with dark, moth-eaten curtains of some sort. At an angle to this back wall was a faded and torn paper folding screen, half closed, as though to provide privacy, hiding whatever was behind it from view of the room.

But from within she could see the flickering light of the lamp projecting onto the screen a shadow that made her catch her breath.

Thick vertical bars, as though of a cage, wrapped in what she could easily tell to be chains.

She hurried over to the screen, anger and dread making her blood beat in her ears anew. She was almost afraid as she looked behind the screen; afraid that what she suspected was true.

She peered around the screen, catching her breath.

A small oil-burning lamp, and beside it a crib locked up within a cage. The outside was bound by chains, clasped with a heavy iron lock.

In the bed lay a bundle of tattered blankets, the size and shape of a sleeping baby.

Ara did not know how long she stood there, frozen and staring. She had heard things, and In-na had warned her of more. She could remember a cruel man who had once had her captured, had wanted to hold her prisoner when she was a child. But it had never _felt_ true, somehow. Not until she saw it with her own eyes.

Not until now.

It made her angry; but more than that, it frightened her, knowing that there were people who would do something like this. She was afraid in the way of a child alone in the dark, seeing monsters in the shadows, a fear of the unknown. These, surely, were people whose minds she could not understand at all, more alien to her than anyone she had ever met. These were people, surely, with no human kindness or compassion in their hearts. People who would stop at nothing, nothing at all, and she could no more see into their minds than she could through solid walls.

A great sense of powerlessness washed over her with that; for if she didn’t understand them, then how could she possibly fight back against them, and all that they stood for?

But no, she reminded herself; it was better if it did not come to fighting. And as long as no one heard her up here then it might not. She scanned the room, squinting into the darkness. There had to be something in here with which she could break the baby free of this cage. She had immediately dismissed the idea of somehow trying to smash the lock open; that would certainly make a noise loud enough to attract attention, and besides, she didn’t trust her aim in the dark; she might accidentally hurt the child.

Thus she peered into the darkness of the room. It was in the loftspace of the house, so the roof sloped down heavily on the side of the window where she had climbed in. But the other wall was vertical, hung with the curtains of some sort she had noticed earlier. As far as she could see, apart from the caged cradle and the screen hiding it from the window, there was nothing else.

Which was odd, thought Ara, as there was no door. _Or, there must be_ , she thought; no one else apart from her could get in from the roof. _It must be behind the curtain_ , _but why_ -

Ara gasped, the breath freezing in her throat, as several things happened in very quick succession.

First, there was a sound, a cry of a child waking from sleep.

But the sound did not come from the crib.

At the moment Ara realised this, she also realised where it was coming from; the curtain behind her. She turned, horror sluicing through her like icy water as she whirled around in the half-light.

Even as she did, the curtain was torn to one side, and the was a figure, exploding forward towards her. A man, screaming out a curse, the snick and gleam of an unsheathed dagger.

Ara’s body took over, then; her mind was almost blank as she reacted, sweeping out her dragon leg with a speed greater than the eye could discern. Her leg made contact with the man’s knees, sending him sprawling onto his face at speed. As he fell, her shout of rage turned into fear as he collided with the crib, sending it toppling to the ground. She lunged to catch it, but it was too late; the cage containing it fell to its side with a crash, and she winced. _The baby_ -

But there was no child’s cry, splitting the night. Instead, her eyes widened as she saw, within the toppled cage, just an unspooling roll of blankets.

 _The child. He wasn’t there_. Yet she had sensed his presence clear and strong in this very room, she was so sure -

But no sooner had that thought come - and before her mind could flicker through the fearful implications of it - then the man who had attacked her was lunging at her again, knife flashing even in the dim light. This time, she was ready, grasping his sleeve and his collar and letting his own momentum carry him flying over her shoulder onto the ground. He crumpled to the ground, rolling to land face down on the wooden floorboards with a cry of pain.

A moment later, Ara was on him from behind with a yell of fear-fueled rage. She drove her scaled knee down hard into his back between his shoulder blades, pulling his arm back up behind him in a lock, so that he whimpered in pain. The blood was beating in her temples as she held him there, ripping the knife from his grasp with her other hand. A moment later though, her vision cleared a little, her heartbeat steadying from the wild dance of panic that had fueled her savage attack.

She did not let up the pressure though, squinting down at his face with bared teeth. He seemed to be in pain, whimpering and sobbing with it; she thought she had heard something crack. But still he was trying to turn his head towards her. “Ah…” he croaked out, voice hoarse as his nose began to bleed. “A…Ara?”

But then, Ara nearly gasped as she recognised his face; it had aged in the intervening years; he was not a child anymore. But then, neither was she. “…Jumong?”

He let out all the air in his lungs in a soft, urgent huff. “Yes. Listen, I’m… sorry, but you have to -”

But he was cut off. For at that moment, Ara felt something cold at her throat, a blade coming from the side to touch her lightly under her chin. “Hello, Ryokuryuu. Welcome back.”

A woman’s voice; an unfamiliar one. Ara turned her head slowly, and the blade followed it as she looked up and behind her.

There was a stranger there; a woman, only a few years older than Ara was. She was holding a baby wrapped in blankets; this time there could be no mistake, what with the vivid green brightness radiating from him in Ara’s mind, filling the room. The child was beginning to wail in earnest now, but the woman was all but ignoring him - and ignoring Jumong, who was still making small sounds of pain in the corner - her eyes fixed on Ara.

Ara spared her only a cursory glance, at first; as soon as she saw the child, she knew. This was the real Ryokuryuu. This child, the little boy In-na had spoken of, the one who would succeed her. The familiar sensation hit her once more, like a punch to the chest, bringing tears to her eyes. He _had_ been here in the room, then; behind the woman, the curtain was torn, as though sliced by a knife. They must have been hiding behind it.

 _As though waiting for her_ …

 _A trap_. Ara cursed herself, inside her mind; she should have guessed, she should have at least suspected it when In-na warned her about the villagers.

Still, it was too late now. The woman holding the child shifted, dropping her head to look down at Ara curiously. As she did the dim light fell on her face. She had short, dark hair, sharp features, but one thing about her drew the eye; a long silvery network of scars, threading down one side of her face, twisting her lips in a permanent sneer. There was hatred in her eyes; so strong and potent that it nearly made Ara gasp. It was in every line of her body, this all-consuming anger, mingled with triumph. A hunter who has finally cornered her prize, the trap she had set with care finally falling closed.

The blade shifted against the skin of Ara’s throat. She felt its very tip nick the skin just underneath her chin, a single drop of blood rolling down her neck.

“Who are you?” Ara snapped, glaring up at her captor. She knew, she supposed; this must be Reyoung. In-na had told her not to fight her, but here she was. Ara felt, more than anything, frustrated. The child was there, it should be easy, and yet she felt vulnerable, helpless. She did not dare try to pull a weapon. She could probably fight off the woman - and Jumong, if it came to it, though she would rather not hurt him even more - but there was the child to think about too. “What do you want with me?”

The woman laughed, almost incredulously, but there was no mirth in it. “It is nothing to do with what I want.” Her face turned to stone; she seemed to be schooling it into forced indifference, though many emotions danced wildly behind her eyes. “ _You are mine. The gods have sent me you, and_ \- ”

“Reyoung” Jumong rasped out. “That’s enough. You don’t have to - ”

“- _and it proves what I have always known! That I am the one bound to finish Lord Ki-nam’s great work and_ \- ”

“Reyoung, stop it! I know… what happened to you….your scars…” Jumong winced. “Please, we can talk through this, and - ”

“- _to avenge his death, and capture the all of the line of the dragons, once and for all!_ ”

“Reyoung - ”

“Stop it!” cried out Ara, above the baby’s crying, ringing in her ears, above Jumong’s protests. “I’ve never done anything to you, but if you really hate me so much, then at least take it out on me!” she was angry now, desperate. “Instead of on your child!”

“This child is _proof_!” said Reyoung. “Proof that I am the true successor of Lord Ki-nam, who was murdered by your family - ”

“Because he was trying to kill So-min!”

“Proof that I am destined to be the one to carry on his work! I’ve been caged and broken free, and now this child has been granted to me by the gods, to keep the blood of the dragons from ever breaking free again - ”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It isn’t just chance that I was the one to have this child! The gods are speaking, rewarding me for all that was taken, for all the hurt you’ve caused my family - ”

“You’re wrong!”

“I’m right.” Reyoung’s eyes were shining, though with fervour or tears, Ara couldn’t tell. “Lord Ki-nam saved my family. He saved my mother from the suffering that was her life before, and promised her a home, and a family. She met my father amongst his people, did you know that? And that was the home I always knew, and he promised that we would have a home once we returned to his village, our village, as long as the monsters like you were kept under lock and key!”

“Even if that was true, that was in the past!” cried Ara. “For gods’ sake, I didn’t do anything to anyone here, and you’re hurting a child because you think that man – that murderer! - was telling you the truth when he said there was some great destiny waiting for you? You’re just telling yourself lies if you think I ever wished you any harm.”

“Maybe you didn’t wish it. But you did cause me harm. Yes, I saw you look disgusted at the scars on my face,” hissed Reyoung, bending down to meet Ara’s eye. She was seething, and didn’t seem to notice Ara’s eyes flick across to the child in her arms; could she try to take him from her without risk of harming him? No, Reyoung was still carefully holding him out of her reach, and the sword was still cold against Ara’s throat. “I was captured; did you know that? In the ten years you were on the run, you weren’t exactly _careful_.” Reyoung spat. “There were many people who saw a girl with green hair, with an astonishing power. A girl who could fly…” she laughed bitterly, as Ara’s eyes widened. “That was the time before we settled in this valley, after the home we were promised was burned, our leader killed by your people.”

Ara blinked, suddenly curious despite herself. “What… what happened?”

Reyoung laughed, a cruel sound devoid of humour. “What do you think, monster? Bandits attacking a homeless tribe of wanderers in the empty lands didn’t care that I wasn’t the girl they were looking for. I was a girl about the right age, and my hair had enough green in it to be convincing.” Her lip curled, voice bitter. “But the buyer didn’t trust them. Tried to make them prove it. Tried to make me fly, to show them.”

Ara’s mouth fell open a little, caught by surprise, pity and guilt welling up from nowhere. She had encountered people, now and then, who had tried to capture her; but of course she had always just flown away. “But… but you couldn’t…”

Reyoung bared her teeth, eyes bright and furious. “I escaped in the end, but not without them cutting up my face a little. Enough to prove a point.” She shifted the sword on Ara’s throat, so the metal was cold against her chin again, no longer warmed by the contact with her flesh. “And I’m not the only one. Half the village has such stories, and the other half is going hungry… but that’s the price we paid for a place to settle, a place to call our own. But I…” she smiled, eyes brightening as she gazed out of the far window. “I am the one who will capture you. My mother will be so proud…”

At that moment, the baby began to cry again, his wailing in counterpoint to his mother’s voice. But it was enough of a distraction; enough for Reyoung to glance momentarily away from her.

And it was all the chance Ara needed. Heart dancing wildly with anger and fear, breathing hard, she grasped the sword at her throat in a sweating fist, wincing as she felt the steel cut deep into her palm and grow slick with blood. But she didn’t let it stop her; she barely felt the sting as she used the moment to wrench the blade sideways, away from her throat. Blood splashed from her hand to the ground, but before Reyoung could react Ara was already on her feet, lunging forward to grasp the child in her arms.

But Reyoung was quick too, and Ara missed, her head colliding with a beam of the sloping ceiling so hard she saw stars explode in front of her eyes. She fell on her hands and knees, blood splattering from her palm to soak into the floorboards as she gasped in pain, through gritted teeth. But no, she couldn’t stop, not now. She scrambled up to her feet, in time to see Jumong, holding out his hands before him, placing himself between Ara and Reyoung.

“Listen!” he begged. “Reyoung… my love, please! Ara… we can… we can talk this out…”

“No!” cried Reyoung, stepping forward. The blade was close to Jumong’s throat now, and despite herself, Ara felt a stab of fear for him. She quashed it immediately; Jumong was her enemy, now, and besides, Reyoung was his wife…she wouldn’t actually hurt him.

_Would she?_

It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. All that mattered was that child, who had done nothing wrong but be born into the wrong time, the wrong place. She had to get him, and then she could fly away and work out what to do next.

But, she realised, she still had to find an escape route before she made an attempt to grab the child from Reyoung; otherwise she’d just be trapped in this room. Her back was up against the wall; or rather had neck was, the steep slope of the roof behind her forcing her to stoop a little. She looked over at the window through which she had come; Reyoung and Jumong were both between her and it, in that moment absorbed in each other, in some battle of wills. She couldn’t see Jumong’s face, but he was standing there with his arms half-raised, and Reyoung was looking into his eyes, her sword barely lowered. There was steel in her gaze, but also a question there. Ara shuddered; it was unmistakable, that look; _are you with me? Or are you against me?_

But still, whatever was going between the two of them didn’t matter to her right now. In fact, it gave her a chance. She scanned the room for a moment. _I_ _f_ _not_ _the window on the other side of the room, then_ …

Reyoung made a sound of frustration then, ducking one way with the child – who started to sob again – then quickly back the other, thrusting her sword past Jumong to cut at the space where Ara had been a moment before. But Ara was already moving, throwing all the power she had into a flying kick behind her, even in the small space. She snarled as her dragon’s foot made contact with the slope of the roof between the beams, smashing through wood with an explosion of splinters that made Reyoung and Jumong pull back, Jumong throwing himself in front of his wife and child now, his eyes wide with fear.

But Ara barely paid them any mind; she kicked at the hole again, making it larger, letting in the diffuse glow of the shrouded moon.

 _Now, to get the child_ …

But even as she thought it, Reyoung came to her senses enough to pass the baby to Jumong and lunge forward with her blade. It caught her upper arm, taking Ara by surprise so that she jumped upwards and out of the hole in the roof, startled by the sting and the blood. It had been simply a grazing blow, a superficial cut, but it had been too close. This woman was fast, she realised now as she clung to the edge of the hole. She had also lost ground; Reyoung was below her, and Ara swung her leg blindly as she scrambled upwards with her arms. But the blow didn’t make contact. She hadn’t even put her full strength into it, not wanting it to hit the child.

Even as she thought that, she felt a cut at her ankle, the left one, the human one, and she gasped in pain. But she didn’t let it stop her; she pulled herself up and out, to stand on top of the roof beside the ragged hole in the wooden tiles.

Only to see, below her, a sight that made her gasp, choking on her breath.

What must surely be half the village was there, gathered in the street, surrounding a group of archers with their bows trained all on Ara herself up on the roof. They must have known she would come here, she suddenly realised, just as Reyoung and Jumong were clearly prepared.

 _Which meant that In-na was in danger_.

The thought struck her with horrible clarity a moment later as she was scanning the crowd of archers and others, in the dim light of a few torches. How could she have been stupid, self-centred enough not to think of it before? Of course they would be watching In-na’s house. She forced herself back to the present. In the front and centre was a middle-aged woman she recognised vaguely from her time in Ki-nam’s camp, all those years ago – that could be no one but Dawon, Reyoung’s mother and the village Elder now, as In-na had said – and beside her a slight man in the robes of a priest. Everyone seemed to be looking to one or the other of them, and short of aiming their bows up at Ara on the roof, they all seemed to be waiting for something.

But Ara had no time to think of what that might be. She looked up into the sky, trying to judge how high she would need to jump, how long until she was out of bowshot; she would need to be fast, faster than they could fire already nocked and drawn arrows. There was the child, but right now, she supposed, In-na was in more immediate danger. Her head spun with the calculations, until a commotion in the people below, a voice raised, broke her out of her fearful reverie.

“Ryokuryuu! Don’t move, or we will kill her!”

“Kill…” Ara stared down, the word _who?_ forming and dying on her lips before she could give voice to it.

There were two men with knives, holding a struggling woman between them, each by an arm. And even the dim light was enough for Ara to recognise her familiar, dear face.

It was In-na, struggling with gritted teeth, wincing as her captors made her put weight on her bad leg. One of them had her staff, out of her reach, and was occasionally striking the back of her calves with it, as though to force her to walk forwards.

Ara’s stomach twisted, as In-na’s eyes met hers. “Ara, don’t - ” In-na started to call, but she got no further, as one of the men shoved a meaty hand over her mouth, silencing her.

“Silence, spirit witch!”

Ara felt anger rise, gripping the knife handle tighter and baring her teeth as Dawon came to the front of the group, to stand beside In-na and her captors. As she did, the priest leaned discretely over and whispered in her ear. She nodded, turned and addressed Ara once more. “Leave my daughter’s house, and give yourself over to us, and we will let her go. Otherwise, you will be killed.”

Ara spat. “Never. Let my grandmother go and give me that child.”

“No. Surrender!” Dawon cried, the weight of authority and absolute certainty in her voice. “Your arrival here is destined. The gods have delivered you into our hands!”

“Destined?” sneered Ara. “I just decided to come here yesterday, I promise you there was nothing _destined_ about it.”

“Priest Jun-seo had a vision. He knew that you would come here, this night” said Dawon. “It was Reyoung who guessed it would be for the child… now yield yourself to us, or she dies.” She jerked her head towards In-na. “The spirit-witch, and your kin. The gods will forgive us for taking her life, if it allows us to return you to your right place, dragon.”

“Ara, don’t listen to her!” cried out In-na, struggling in the grasp of the man who held her, still holding her staff away from her grasp even as In-na reached out a hand for it. The knife pressed close to her throat, making Ara’s heartbeat accelerate with fear, yet still In-na struggled, as fiercely as she could despite the obvious pain she was in. “Take the child and go! I…” she tore away a hand as someone tried to cover her mouth, “I’ll be alright! Fly! Go!”

Ara gritted her teeth, as her mind ran through the possibilities. She couldn’t leave In-na; she knew that immediately. But the child… she looked around, and back down through the hole in the roof to the loft room. Reyoung was still standing there, holding the crying child cradled in one arm – a horrific parody of the stance of a caring mother - and her sword in the other, but Jumong had begun to scramble up and out of the hole in the roof, towards her.

At the sight of him, an idea came, born of desperation and fear. With a grunt of effort, Ara lunged towards him and grasped a handful of the back of his tunic, using the strength of her dragon leg braced against the edge of the hole to drag him up and out before he even had time to scream. He was taller and a little bulkier than she was, but she found strength she never knew she had to pull him to his feet, unsheathing the hunting dagger at her belt and pressing the flat of the blade hard to his throat.

“Ryo- A-Ara!” he managed to stammer out. “P-please…”

She tried to still the tremble in her fingers on the blade, slipping in the blood from her own wound. “Shut up,” she snarled, trying to make her voice sound threatening. Ara had been in her share of dangerous situations in her wanderings with Zeno, but she had never done anything like this before. The feeling of the knife in her hand, pressing into his flesh, Jumong swallowing and trembling beneath it…that was something new, and suddenly the reality of what she was doing hit her all at once. Could she really kill him, if it came to it? She grimaced; she hoped it _wouldn’t_ come to that. She cleared her throat, feeling her own heart beat like a frightened bird, in counterpoint to the fast pulse in Jumong’s throat where her wrist pressed against his skin. She tore her gaze away, staring down into the house at Reyoung, then down to the ground below, where they had In-na.

“Let her go, or…or he dies!” she shouted. “And… also give me the child!”

No one answered. Ara gritted her teeth, holding Jumong tighter. “I swear, I’ll kill him!”

Still nothing. The archers still had their bows trained on her, but Ara had eyes only for the knife at In-na’s throat. Their eyes met and at that contact, Ara had to struggle not to cry at the fear and love and ferocious pride in In-na’s expression. She knew, Ara understood then. Perhaps she had known from the start that however much In-na tried to tell her to leave her to her fate, Ara would always try to save her.

“Ara…” Jumong spoke in a whisper. “It doesn’t have to be this way. I promise, I don’t want to see In-na get hurt either. She was my mentor, once, and I really cared for her - ”

“Shut up!” she growled. “You chose this. You betrayed In-na. And you married that woman, that evil - ”

“Reyoung isn’t evil! She’s… you have to understand, our child… she didn’t ask for this.”

“ _Fuck you_ for speaking about your own child like he’s a monster! Did you even give him a name? Did you?” She came up close to his face, as he didn’t answer. “Reyoung _is_ evil. And you’ve chosen her side, Jumong.”

“Reyoung… the outside world…she’s been hurt, Ara…”

“ _I’ve_ been hurt!” flared Ara. “It didn’t make me like _her_.” The words stirred something in her; even as she said them, they felt familiar. “It’s not just her, though. It’s this whole village; it’s all turned to poison, and trust me, I can’t _wait_ to leave it and never come back.” She ground her teeth, pulling him back around so that she was pulling his injured arm up behind him. She wondered, for a moment, why his sleeve was smeared with blood, then remembered it was her own, from the cut on her hand; she had almost forgotten the pain.

“Ara…”

“Quiet. You chose this. Make your choice, and have the courage to live with it,” she growled. She raised her voice, trying to still the shaking in it; her throat hurt from shouting. “I said I’m going to kill him!”

Still nothing. Ara felt doubt wash over her; did no one care if Jumong lived or died? Or was it just the way of this place, that the life of one person was a small price to pay for capturing her?

It disturbed her that she didn’t know the answer to that. But it didn’t matter, she was beginning to see; either way, Jumong was her only leverage, and both Dawon and Reyoung were standing impassive, watchful. Almost mocking her.

She stood there for a little while longer, at a loss. But even as she did so, she heard a shout coming from below.   
A very familiar voice, calling her name. “Ara! Now!”

Her head whipped around to the ground below fast enough to hurt her neck as she saw In-na move, the moment slowing, in her mind, to a crawl. Ara was a little way up, but she could see well enough as In-na thrust out a hand, grasping the dagger from the belt of one of the men who was holding her, throwing it hard at Dawon. Her eyes widened as Dawon turned, seizing a man’s spear and blocking the blade even as it came arcing towards her head. It glanced off, falling uselessly to the ground with a clatter.

But the damage had been done; the villagers converged on In-na, and Ara’s eyes widened in sudden fear; she knew that this was for her, that In-na had meant it as a distraction. But in that instant, her body wouldn’t move. Paralysed with fear, as though she was just a little girl again, helplessly watching those she loved sacrifice everything for her.

But in that moment of frozen horror, Ara’s grip on Jumong slackened a little, and it was all the chance he needed. She was jolted back to herself as she felt him tear the dagger from her hand, dropping it to their feet. He tried to grab her arm, but she hit back with fierce desperation that surprised even her; _no, not now, she had to see, she had to help In-na…_ “Jumong, please, you said you cared about her…”

His answer came through gritted teeth, as he struggled to pin her arm behind her back, hands slipping in her blood. “You….you said I’d already made my choice” he rasped, voice harsh with effort. “Well, this is me…choosing a side. And…” he gritted his teeth, “… _living with it._ ”

“You… _traitor!_ ” Rage washed her vision in red as she shoved him to the side, staring down at the ground; she could hardly see In-na, for all the people crowding around her.

Until she could. She saw them raise her up, the people jeering and crying for the death of the one who had tried to kill their elder, a wild and nightmarish cry for blood.

And then there was a knife unsheathed, bright in the moonlight against In-na’s skin.

“ _No!_ ” Ara realised she was screaming, and wrenching her arm violently from Jumong’s grasp, and hurling herself towards the ground like a falling stone. But it was too late; she saw it as she was in the air. She saw the glint of the knife, as it slashed across In-na’s throat. She saw the momentary stillness, the widening of her grandmother’s eyes before the blood came, spraying out with arterial pressure as her knees went weak, catching the man holding her off balance so that she slipped to the ground, her staff that she had seized back in the fray falling from her hand to roll away to one side. The ground rushed up to meet Ara as In-na fell to the dust too, and Ara nearly fumbled her landing as she fell immediately to her knees in the pool of blood, turning In-na over; her eyes were already losing focus as Ara pulled her into her arms, and her hands slipped in blood as she clasped In-na’s, which clasped hers back with a weakening grip.

“ _No!_ ” cried out Ara, voice tearing her throat, tears burning. She was remembering, all at once; Jae-gyu bleeding to death on that rooftop in the burning village, So-min lying half-conscious as Ara - a mere child at the time - had struggled and fought to drag him to safety. Her mother, not so long before. Bleeding on the cold rocky ground and begging Ara to remember her promise, telling her to fly away and save herself, to go, to not look back. “No, no no…” mumbled Ara, sobbing, clutching In-na’s hand. “No, I just found you again…”

“Ara…” In-na’s face was twisted, and she could barely speak for the blood in her mouth. “I’m… glad you came back… even f-for… only a little while…”

“I’m here!” she sobbed. “I’m here, I promise, I’m not going anywhere…”

“You…you m-must go… you have to…”

“No!” said Ara, just as In-na’s eyes slipped closed. “No, no…” she didn’t know whether she was replying, or simply crying out in defiance at the whole world. It seemed to be the only word that could pass her lips right now. “No, no, no…”

“Re-remember…” In-na’s hand came up to touch Ara’s cheek, one last gentle touch that painted the side of her face with crimson; she felt it dripping down from the earring she wore. “You’re the only one left who can…”

Ara lifted her head back up, gasping, as In-na said that; but, she realised, it was too late. In-na’s hand had gone slack in hers, sticky with blood that was now soaking Ara, seeping into the dust of the village square beneath her. Some of it was her own, she thought vaguely, from the cut on her hand that she could barely feel now, dazed with shock as she was.

It had happened so fast. Ara was dimly aware of the people closing in close around her as she closed In-na’s eyes, with a trembling hand. They had just _killed_ her… even at the end, Ara had half expected that they wouldn’t do it, but they had.

A voice came, too close and too loud, cutting through the roaring in her ears. “Ryokuryuu! Don’t move, we’ve got you surrounded!”

Ara looked up, vision clearing a little. Her eyes smarted and blurred with tears she didn’t remember crying. Sure enough, she saw, on all sides of where she was sitting cross-legged on the ground, there were people with drawn swords and spears, pointed inwards towards her, a fence of sharpened steel. There was fear on many of their faces; she supposed they were afraid of her, soaked in blood, trembling and staring with wide eyes. She blinked a few times, still clutching In-na’s body close. She should be doing something, she half thought. She should fight her way out. Why was she here again? _Ah yes, for the sake of the child_. Her heart leapt to her throat once more. She had taken a risk, and In-na had paid the price for it. Just like all the others who had loved her.

Just as she had that thought, she saw someone push through to the front of the crowd beside Dawon, and a moment later saw that it was Reyoung, coming out of the house. She was holding the baby wrapped up in the blanket in one arm, her sword in the other. She glared down at Ara with the others. A little way behind her was Jumong, cradling his infured arm with bone deep weariness, but standing by his wife. Ara met his eye, and he looked away; his eyes kept darting, too, away from In-na’s body, darkness in his eyes, his face the kind of stone of a man forcing himself to feel nothing.

Ara barely spared him another thought; she had only contempt left for him now, and even that wouldn’t help her save his son from this place, these people. Only one person was left alive who could do that, and that was Ara herself.

Then Reyoung’s sword was at her throat again. “Oh, stop crying. The blood spilled here tonight is on your hands! None of this would have happened if not for you. So surrender, and no one else need die.” The baby wailed into the night air. “Submit yourself, and acknowledge your place!”

Ara blinked, sadly. “My place…” her head was still spinning; what rage she had felt before seemed to have ebbed out of her all at once, leaving her aching and weary. Her eyes caught on the child, once more; his cries tore at her heart. All those happy moments of freedom she had spent… _this_ could have been her life, if she had been born just a single generation later. She had had sorrow, yes, but she saw the truth now; she saw that she had been indescribably lucky, having people who loved her and treated her with kindness.

The way that Reyoung held that child make Ara’s stomach churn. She held him like a burden, but one she would never let loose her iron grip on. In her other hand she held a sword.

 _Her place_ … Ara got to her feet, laying In-na’s body carefully on the ground, folding her arms over her chest neatly. She picked up In-na’s staff from where it had rolled to the ground, holding it up in both hands. It must look like a weapon to them, she thought vaguely, but in her hands it merely felt like something to cling to, despite the stiffening pain in her wounded hand. All the while the circle of blades followed her, as did all the eyes of the villagers. Some were filled with anger, yes, but many, she saw, were more wary.

She even thought she recognised a few faces, here and there; they had grown older, just as she had, but she thought she saw some of the village children she had played with while So-min was at the market, or had seen now and then fetching and carrying for the fieldworkers sowing the rice. Further towards the back, perhaps, and more fearful. But silent, in the face of what had happened. But then again it was hard to say for certain if she truly recognised them, or whether they were strangers; ten years of hardship can change a person, in more ways than one. Yet still she wondered how many had survived the attack on the village and chosen to join their attackers. She wondered how many had been given a choice, and whether the alternative was death.

 _Death_. The sword was still pointing at Ara’s throat, though now she was standing she was able to look Reyoung square in the eye. They were about the same height, she realised. Behind her came Dawon, the woman Ara remembered more clearly now from that night so many years ago, when she and So-min had wandered into the camp. If she had only warned him… it still troubled her sometimes, and seeing the woman’s face again brought it into stark focus once more.

But still; the past was the past, and the frightened child she had been had simply frozen, paralysed by dread at the sight of the people who had killed her mother.

Now, Dawon had chains wrapped around her forearm in coils to make an iron fist, the manacles clasped in her hand as she stood by her daughter, wary. All of these people were ready for a fight; they were preparing for her to attack them, to fight her way to freedom. Perhaps they were expecting to die at her hands, preparing for it even.

She could do that, she knew; she could fight her way out. She’d probably make it, too; she might be seriously injured, but she could probably survive to fight another day, to keep on running. She could run for however long it took to get away, run until her power left her entirely, run until she died.

The child’s plaintive cries drilled into her mind.

She could run, or she could stay. Either way, she knew, there would be no going back. Not again. Not this time.

Ara looked around the assembled faces. All the people of the dragon’s blood, or certainly almost all. Here, it was likely, in this hidden valley… this was where the generations of the future would be born. All to parents who were unsympathetic to the dragons, who hated and feared them. Even if each one escaped, then the next child would have to do it all over again, and would grow up alone, without a family as like as not.

It was too much, the thought of that endless, bleak future, the generations stretching onwards to… _what?_ It was unbearable, impossible to contemplate. She had been lucky, but her luck would not hold for those future generations. Even if she were to somehow get this child to safety. Even if he were to do the same for his successor, and on and on. Even if she were to find Zeno, make him promise to keep coming back, even if he had to fight each time; he would probably do it, if she asked him.

But how much blood would be spilled, each time? She knew that Zeno was older than he looked, but he couldn’t possibly live forever. And even if he did, then nothing here in the village would really change. _And one day something would go wrong,_ _in_ _one generation it wouldn’t work, or a predecessor would be killed before they passed_ _on_ _to their successor what had to happen_ _and why_ _, and_ … _and_ …

_There had to be a better way._

Ara’s head was spinning. They were waiting for her to say something, to do something. To make a choice.

Perhaps it was a choice she had made without knowing it even before. Perhaps she had made it a long time ago, without knowing it.

With a decisive motion, she thrust the wooden staff into the blood-soaked earth at her feet. All around her, the people flinched as she did, expecting a fight, but Ara did not move, save to look up at Reyoung and Jumong, then at Dawon.

She held out her bloody palms to them, open and empty, exposing the insides of her wrists. “If you want to put me in chains” she said, keeping her voice even, “then I submit.” Her throat felt dry, though not with fear; she was not afraid of these people, not anymore. She curled up her hands into fists, drawing back as Dawon stepped forward in surprise. “But I have… conditions.”

“You are not in a position to negotiate, dragon. We have you surrounded, and if we have to kill you, then, well… it shouldn’t matter too much, in the grand scheme of things.”

Ara glared back, looking around her, dropping her voice to a low growl. “That’s as may be. You could kill me, yes. But how many of you do you think I could kill first, before you brought me down? Ten? Twenty? I’ve still got the dragon’s power, and I’ve got even less to lose than before.” She lifted her dragon’s leg off the ground, bitter laughter welling up as she struggled to fight back tears, from some dark part of herself. “I’d start by killing you, for… for In-na, and for the child, and for making this place what it is. Make no mistake of that.” Ara laid a hand on the staff beside her, still sticking upwards from the ground. There was fear in the faces of some of the people around her, she saw now. _Good_. “So, I think actually I _am_ in a position to negotiate, don’t you?”

Dawon tilted her head, darting a brief glance at her daughter. A whisper ran through the crowd in the hush that followed Ara’s words, and still Dawon said nothing. Even as she stared, the man at her side – Jun-seo, the seer priest – leaned over and whispered in her ear again. Dawon’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. But Reyoung seemed to see it, pushing forward to her mother’s side, glaring. “Mother! You can’t think of striking a bargain with that…that - ”  

“Hush, Reyoung. And quiet that child.” Dawon’s words were cutting. She stretched out an arm to hold her daughter back, and to Ara’s surprise Reyoung subsided. All the while, Dawon’s eyes never left Ara’s, a small frown on her face. Finally she spoke. “Make no mistake; I do not trust you, nor do I think you anything better than a curse on this village, on our blood. But…” she frowned deeper, an almost nostalgic note in her voice; she was addressing the whole village now. “Lord Ki-nam, while he was alive, worked to gather our people from across the land, such that the blood from which the new dragons spring may be contained, and controlled. He gathered us all together for a purpose, and it was to keep us safe, to keep the outside world from hunting us down for the sake of the likes of _her_. If she escapes we will all be in danger.” She nodded derisively at Ara, then turned to face the assembled people, who were listening to her quietly, save for a few murmurs. “And preventing that, fulfilling the destiny we were brought together for… that is a more worthy goal than simple revenge.” She shot Reyoung – who was still seething quietly - a quelling look, before meeting Ara’s eye again. “So, Ryokuryuu. Name your terms, and I will listen.”

* * *

_**(Epilogue)** _

 

The clouds had rolled in during the night. By dawn, the sky lightened to a washed out grey; a flat, heavy ceiling in the sky above, and only the barest breeze stirring the tufty dry grass at Zeno’s feet as he stood on the hillside.

Zeno wasn’t looking into the sky though. He was looking across the gently sloping valley, towards the little stone hut that sat nestled in a hollow on the scrubby hillside.

He was listening, in the morning stillness.

Very faint, muffled by the dead air, he could hear the sound of music, the bright chords of the shamisen and a lowered voice singing a soft lullaby. He could also hear the cries of a baby, strangely incongruous in the silence.

There was someone else there now, though. Zeno came closer to the house, cutting a stealthy path around the valley; he didn’t think they could see him from the village below, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. He didn’t want to cause a scene now, after all.

As he came closer to the hut, the sounds grew louder. Zeno sat on the ground with his back to the rough stones, under the small, high window, simply listening. He could hear something else, a sound undercutting the music; the quiet clinking of metal.

At the moment he had that though, the music stopped, so that there was only the child’s mewling cries in the morning stillness, hushed a moment later, followed by more metallic sounds.

Then a familiar voice, speaking doubtfully into the quiet. “Zeno?”  
Zeno sighed, looking behind him before getting to his feet, scrambling up onto an empty, half-rotted barrel that was standing by the door. It was precarious, but it raised him high enough to lean his forearms on the rough stone window sill and peer in.

It was dim inside, lit by two tiny windows, one of which Zeno himself was mostly blocking, plunging half of the room into shadow. There was a little lamp burning on a table in the corner, but it still took his eyes a moment to adjust.

When they did, he caught his breath; there she was, exactly where he had sensed the two bright glows of green, interweaving and mingling in his mind. There was Ara; she had put her shamisen to one side and was lifting a baby wrapped in a trailing blanket from a roughly-crafted crib beside her, holding the child to her chest in a way that was almost defensive. Beside her was an open wooden box, with papers and an open book lying on top of it, from which Ara looked up as he came to the window. Even when her eyes met Zeno’s, she didn’t entirely drop the tension in her stance.

But he was barely aware of that; his eyes were drawn to the chains on her wrists and ankles, clinking together with her sudden movement as the baby let out a thin wail of distress.

She looked down quickly, tried to hush the child. “I just fed you!” she muttered, frowning. “Yes, I know you want more, but they only gave us so much milk for you for today… I’m sorry, when you can eat normal food you can have some of mine…” she frowned. “What’s wrong, hmm?”

The baby kept grizzling, as Ara bounced him awkwardly on her lap, her chains clinking. Zeno tilted his head, trying to see better through the small window. “Has Ryokuryuu burped him?”

“Uh. You’re supposed to do that with babies?”

“Yes. Look, like this…” Zeno mimed holding a child to one shoulder, and patting on the back. Ara copied him, and a while later managed to get the baby to burp. A little after that, he quieted, and Ara smiled, gratefully. “Thank you, Zeno. I’ve only been doing this for one day but…” she sighed, running her fingers through her hair and shaking her head. “I’m going to have to become better at this.” She laid the baby in the crib – it was more of an upended crate really, thought Zeno – with meticulous care, and came closer to the window, toying with the chains at her wrists. She saw Zeno looking at them, and he watched her face turn to a frown.

“Zeno - ” she began, but he spoke at the same time.

“Ryokuryuu - ”

“Oh! You first.”

“Ah. Zeno was just wondering… when Ryokuryuu was planning to escape. And if you’d like Zeno’s help, then - ”

“Zeno…”

He broke off, seeing her face as she said his name. His eyes widened.

“Zeno, you know I’m not planning on escaping from here, don’t you?”

Zeno opened his mouth and closed it again. “B-but…Ryokuryuu could!” he laid his hands on the window sill. “Those chains… we could find a way, with Zeno’s strength combined with Ryokuryuu’s… we could take the baby too…”

“…Seon. That’s his name, Seon. Or… I called him that, at least.” She fiddled with the chains once more, her face clouding. “His parents didn’t even give him a name. Can you imagine that?”

Zeno nodded, his heart aching. “Poor little baby chick. We can take him with us.”

But she was shaking her head. And then he said the words that he had been dreading. “Zeno, I’m not going to run away with you. Not this time, not from this.” She frowned, raising her manacled arms. “This… Zeno, there was a price to keep Seon safe, but not just him. All the generations to come, while this place is… like this…”

“Ryokuryuu won’t…” the words were hard to say. “You won’t be there to make sure.”

Her eyes flashed up to meet his. “You think I don’t know that? It’s true, what I said! I meant all of it!” Ara looked into his eyes, desperate. Her expression tore his heart. “Zeno, you have to understand… everyone I loved has left me, has _died_ for me. But they still died. Every single person, apart from - ”

“Apart from Zeno.”

She broke off, stricken, then sighed. “…Yes, that’s true. You saved me, and you raised me well, Zeno, and you were always there when I needed you. But…” she wrung her hands, making the chains rattle, “but now you have to let me go.” She raised her arms, holding out the chains and gesturing around the little hut. “I meant what I said. If these chains are the price to pay for this little boy to have a better life then he would have, then that alone would be enough. But Zeno…” she looked up at him, eyes caught in the light of the lantern, shining. “It’s not just that. I believe I can make this place _better_. And it might take a few generations to change, and it might not work at all, but Zeno… I have to believe it can be done!”

“Maybe it can be… but by giving up your freedom?”

Ara hesitated. “Sometimes…” she sighed. “Zeno, when I travelled with you, you have to understand…I was happy, some of the time. You know that, don’t you? But… I wasn’t free.” She held up her hands, one of which was freshly bandaged, he noticed. “And I know that you did everything you could, and you did so _well_ , you really were the person I needed to save me and help me to heal. But for me, I think…freedom isn’t that. Or rather…” she scrunched up her face, thoughtful. “There is no freedom for me out there when I know that there is some good I could be doing here.” She raised her chained wrists again. “Even if it looks like this, for now. Does… does that make any sense?”

He sighed. It did, of course, make some sense to him; perhaps he had seen it in her for some time now. A restlessness, or rather a direction to the paths that she chose to walk. He should have seen it sooner, he knew. She was so different from her ancestor. She was different even from the girl that she had been ten years ago, and only now did he fully understand how.

And maybe now it was too late. The thought tugged at his heart. Yet still, he knew, there was nothing he could do now. Not when she had made up her mind, standing as fast as the steel chains that bound her wrists.

And if anyone could do good here, he thought, it was her. Even chained up, she still stood proud and determined, hands balled into fists. She had grown up with stories of heroes, and this, perhaps, was her way of becoming the only hero that she herself had ever really needed. Someone who would _stay_ , and stand fast and strong and not run from the challenges that were before them. To undo the damage and the cruelty that had been done with slow and careful work, reshaping a future she would never get to see herself.

In short, she would become someone quite unlike Zeno himself.

He sighed, and she reached out and grasped his hands in both of hers, through the narrow window. He cleared his throat. “Ryokuryuu’s not wearing the earring.”

Ara’s face fell, her hand leaving his and going to her ear, to the place where it was missing. “That… that was my other condition.” She looked up at him. “In-na… my grandmother. They… they killed her, Zeno. And I said I would bring them back to her, so… I asked for a proper grave for her, and for… for the earrings to be buried with her.” Ara smiled a little sadly. “That way her spirit will have them in the heavens, as she was supposed to.” Ara looked up at him. “Zeno, you can see spirits sometimes, can’t you?”

“….Sometimes, yes.”

“Tell her… I mean. If you see her… if you see any of my family… tell them… tell them I love them, and I will see them soon. And that I hope I am making the right choice.”

Zeno nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak. But he owed her this assurance, at least. “If Zeno sees them, Zeno will tell them so.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Be well, Ryokuryuu.”

“And you, Zeno.”

And so, a little while later, Zeno found himself stepping quietly down from the window, turning away and leaving the little house on the hillside behind even as the light brightened over the village. As he did, he heard the cry of a child once more, waking up again, and a little later, the sound of soft music, the sound deadened a little by the impending rain and the heavy, misty air: a lullaby.

And unknown to Zeno, long after he had left the valley, in the heavy air around the hut on the hillside there began to congregate countless whispers and shifting spirits. Moving back and forth like dark weeds in the current of a stream, reaching out with longing hands to the girl and the baby boy in the stone hut. Their fingers ghosted over the chains on her wrists and ankles, but Ara was as unaware of them as the sleeping child was, save for in troubled dreams. But to sooth away nightmares and the grief, she sang him the songs of hope, songs she remembered from the past, until night came. Then she got up to light the lamp, a beacon marking a moment of quiet between the endless, stormy sea of ghosts of the past and the opposing ocean of the future, yawning wide around them on both sides. 

 

_**[END.]** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end!   
> \- I really hope you enjoyed this story, it's my longest finished project and I'm very very proud of it and invested in it. - Please leave a comment and let me know if you liked it!! It fuels my sad, sad writer heart <3  
> \- Also, I tried to make this tie in as much as I could with my present-day Ryokuryuu village fic (feat. actual canon characters other than Zeno! Wow!) which is called Where They Cannot Reach You. There's a few things that might be able to stretch to be called (retroactive?) easter eggs in there if you've read this, except most of them are sadder than that phrase implies :(  
> \- Visit me on tumblr @kanafinwhy, where I crosspost this fic and also all my other fic. Also I blog about fandom/general life.  
> \- In any case, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and enjoying this story. It really means a lot.


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